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DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD 


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DAYS    ON  THE 
ROAD 

Crossing  the  Plains  in  1865 


BY 

SARAH  RAYMOND  HERNDON 


New   Yo  r  k 

BURR    PRINTING   HOUSE 

1902 


y       .  -'m.  -V.^ 


Copyright,  1902, 
By  Sarah  Raymond  Herndon. 


4=1-3  4^ 


^ 


^ 


DEDICATED    TO 

THE  PIONEERS  OF  MONTANA  AND 

THE  "GREAT  WEST," 

Who  Crossed  the  Plains  in  Wagons. 


PREFACE. 

I  do  not  expect  to  gain  fame  or  fortune  by 
the  publication  of  this  Httle  book.  I  have 
prepared  it  for  publication,  because  a  num- 
ber of  the  pioneers  who  read  my  journal 
twenty  years  ago,  when  published  in  The 
Husbandman,  have  asked  me  to. 

At  that  time  I  was  a  busy  wife,  mother 
and  housekeeper,  and  could  only  write  when 
my  baby  boy  was  taking  his  daily  nap,  to 
supply  the  copy  for  each  week.  No  one 
knows  better  than  I  how  very  imperfect  it 
was,  yet  many  seemed  to  enjoy  it,  and  the 
press  that  noticed  it  at  all  spoke  very  kindly 
of  it.  ; 

S.  R.  H. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  THE  PLAINS 

BY  DR.   HOWARD. 

Editor  Husbandman. — Through  your 
kindness  to  Mrs.  Howard,  we  are  a  reader 
of  your  excellent  journal.  Hence  a  few 
months  ago  our  eyes  fell  upon  "Reminis- 
ences  of  Pilgrimage  Across  the  Plains  in 
1865,"  by  S.  R.  H.,  and  at  once  recognized 
the  writer  as  the  "lady  who  rode  the  gallant 
bay.**  And  now,  sir,  as  we  were  an  humble 
member  of  the  gallant  McMahan  train,  fre- 
quently referred  to  in  her  interesting  jour- 
nal, permit  me  through  the  columns  of  your 
paper  to  tender  her  the  thanks  and  gratitude, 
not  only  of  ourselves,  but  every  surviving 
member  of  that  train,  for  affording  us  the 
pleasure  of  again  traveling  that  eventful 
road  without  the  fatigue  and  hardships  of  a 


X  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

long  and  tiresome  journey.  And  even  now, 
after  the  lapse  of  fifteen  years,  to  be  so  pleas- 
antly reminded  of  our  "Gallant  Bearing" 
and  the  confidence  reposed  in  us  for  protec- 
tion, while  passing  through  the  Indian  coun- 
try, we  almost  regret  that  the  savages  did 
not  give  us  a  striking  opportunity  of  dis- 
playing our  prowess.  It  was  our  pleasure 
to  form  the  acquaintance  of  the  writer,  as 
correctly  stated,  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
South  Platte,  near  the  foot  of  Fremont's  Or- 
chard. The  present  editor  of  the  Husband- 
man, then  a  beardless  youth,  had  been  suf- 
fering with  typho-malarial  fever  from  the 
time  we  left  Nebraska  City,  and  we  visited 
her  camp  (ostensibly)  begging  bread,  and 
obtained  as  good  as  was  ever  baked  upon  the 
plains.  From  this  time  on,  at  least  for  some 
hundreds  of  miles,  it  was  our  pleasure  to 
meet  her  on  the  road  and  in  camp.  We  were 
in  different  trains,  but  camped  near  each 
other  every  night  for  protection  from  the 
Indians.     Very    soon,    somehow    or    other, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  xi 

when  our  trains  were  preparing  to  drive  out 
every  morning,  and  Miss  R.  was  mounting 
Dick,  Ave  were  in  the  act  of  mounting  our 
pony  Jo,  and  even  at  this  day,  in  thinking 
over  the  matter,  I  am  induced  to  beHeve  that 
our  ponies  became  somewhat  attached  to 
each  other,  as  they  would  instinctively  fall 
into  each  other's  company.  This  was  the 
state  of  affairs  existing  at  Elk  Mountain, 
where  the  bouquet  was  gathered  and  pre- 
sented, and  where,  it  is  frankly  admitted, 
we  became  somewhat  partial. 

Well  do  we  recollect  the  crossing  of 
North  Platte,  that  turbulent  stream  on  the 
Fort  Halleck  route.  Train  after  train  was 
crossing  all  day  long.  We  were  standing  on 
the  bank ,  with  Captain  McMahan,  when 
the  Hardinbrooke  train,  the  one  in  which 
she  was  traveling,  approached  the  crossing, 
and  we  discovered  Miss  Raymond  on  the 
front  seat  of  the  wagon,  with  lines  in  hand, 
in  the  attitude  of  driving.  We  remarked, 
"Good  gracious,  look  yonder,  is  it  possible 


xii  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Miss  Raymond  is  going  to  drive  that  team 
across  this  terrible  stream  alone?" 

''Now/'  said  Captain  McMahan,  "is~  the 
time  to  show  your  gallantry." 

And  before  we  could  think  twice,  she 
drove  bravely  in.  Of  course  we  mounted  Jo 
and  followed  after  her,  and  here  on  a  little 
island  in  the  middle  of  the  river  is  where 
we  rode  up  and  congratulated  her  on  her 
skill  as  a  driver.  As  we  approached  the 
place  of  our  destination  our  trains  became 
separated.  Miss  R.  preceded  us  a  few  days 
to  the  Golden  City.  It  was  our  pleasure, 
however,  to  visit  her  in  the  little  domicile 
mentioned  in  her  narrative,  and 

Talk  our  troubles  over,  our  journey  through  at  last, 
And  in  her  happy  presence  we  forgot  the  gloomy 
past 

We  sojourned  in  Virginia  City  but  a  short 
time,  then  crossed  a  tributary  of  the  Mis- 
souri near  their  confluence,  and  wintered 
at  Diamond  City  Confederate  Gulch.     The 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  xiii 

June  following  we  returned  to  our  native 
State. 

A  year  after  our  return  Captain  Mc- 
Mahan  and  myself  received  cards  announc- 
ing the  nuptials  of  Miss  Raymond  and 
Mr.  Herndon,  which  cards  now  occupy  re- 
ceivers on  our  center  tables,  for  which  we 
were  ever  thankful,  and  at  which  time,  of 
course,  the  bouquet  crumbled  to  dust.  And 
now  wishing  the  'lady  who  rode  the  gallant 
bay'*  and  the  lucky  gentleman  whose  home 
she  makes  happy,  long  life  and  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  Montana  home ;  I  am, 
Truly  yours, 

W.  Howard. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 

"Crossing  the  Plains  in  1865,"  is  the  title  under 
which  a  lady  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  Husbandman, 
is  publishing  a  series  of  letters.  The  story  of  every- 
day life  on  the  plains  is  so  prettily  written,  that  these 
papers  repay  perusal.  We  have  been  charmed  by 
the  native  grace  of  the  author,  and  we  send  her  our 
cojnpliments  whoever  she  may  be.  We  crossed  the 
plains  the  same  year,  also,  six  years  before,  and  we 
can  fully  appreciate  the  experience  of  our  unknown 
friend  who  writes  so  charmingly. — Stock,  Farm  and 
Home  Weekly. 

In  this  issue  we  close  our  narrative  of  pleasure, 
trials,  etc.,  of  a  trip  across  the  great  American  plains 
in  1865.  It  has  been  a  plain,  simple  story  and  true 
to  life  and  full  of  interest  to  Montana's  oldtimers, 
and  all  who  made  the  journey  of  the  plains  in 
wagons.  To  the  editor  of  this  paper  it  has  been  a 
story  of  particular  interest,  for  he,  a  beardless  boy 
then,  crossed  the  plains,  was  a  member  of  the  Mc- 
Mahan  train,  the  sick  man  for  whom  Dr.  Howard 
often  went  foraging  for  bread. — Rocky  Mountain 
Husbandman. 

"Crossing  the  Plains  in  1865,"  is  the  title  of  a 
story  which  was  written  by  a  well-known  lady  of 
Virginia  City,  for  the  Rocky  Mountain  Husband- 
man, and  came  to  a  conclusion  in  the  last  number 
of  that  paper. 

It  was  a  plain,  unvarnished  recital  of  the  experi- 
ences  of  the  journey   across   the   plains   when   ox- 


xvi  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

trains  were  the  favorite  conveyances,  and  the  voy- 
agers were  subjected  to  many  vicissitudes  unknown 
to  travelers  of  the  present  day.  Though  quite  un- 
pretentious as  to  literary  merit,  it  has  been  interest- 
ing in  recalling  to  the  minds  of  the  pioneers,  who 
have  read  it,  the  eventful  scenes  of  their  own  pil- 
grimage, and  to  them,  it  has  been  pleasant  reading. — 
Madisonian. 

"I  have  felt  a  deep  interest  in  S.  R.  H.'s,  'Crossing 
the  Plains  in  1865,'  all  through  these  long  series  of 
letters,  and  many  a  familiar  spot  has  been  brouglit 
back  to  me  that  had  long  been  forgotten.  And  as 
some  of  the  actors  in  the  play  live  in  Challis,  I  will 
say  to  S.  R.  H.,  that  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  is  still  loved 
by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  and  that  little  Annie  is 
now  a  blooming  young  lady,  and  ever  worthy  the 
good-bye  kiss;  that  the  Captain  has  never  disgraced 
the  title  bestowed  in  1865. 

"I  am,  Mr.  Editor,  respectfully  yours, 

^'O.  E.  Penwell.'' 


DAYS  ON  THE   ROAD 


WE  START. 

May  I. 

As  I  sit  here  in  the  shade  of  our  prairie- 
schooner,  with  this  blank  book  ready  to 
record  the  events  of  this  our  first  day  on  the 
road,  the  thought  comes  to  me : 

"Why  are  we  here?  Why  have  we  left 
home,  friends,  relatives,  associates,  and 
loved  ones,  who  have  made  so  large  a  part 
of  our  lives  and  added  so  much  to  our  hap- 
piness ?" 

"Echo  answers  Why?'" 

"The  chief  aim  in  life  is  the  pursuit  of  life, 
liberty,  and  happiness."  Are  we  not  taking 
great  risks,  in  thus  venturing  into  the  wilder- 
ness ?  When  devoted  men  and  women  leave 
home,  friends  and  the  enjoyments  of  life  to 


2  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

go  to  some  far  heathen  land,  obeying  the 
command :  **Go,  preach  my  Gospel,  to  every 
creature,"  we  look  on  and  applaud  and  de- 
sire to  emulate  them.  There  is  something 
so  sublime,  so  noble  in  the  act  that  elevates 
the  missionary  above  the  common  order  of 
human  beings  that  we  are  not  surprised  that 
they  make  the  sacrifice,  and  we  silently  wish 
that  w^e,  too,  had  been  called  to  do  mission- 
ary work. 

But  when  people  who  are  comfortably  and 
pleasantly  situated  pull  up  stakes  and  leave 
all,  or  nearly  all,  that  makes  life  worth  the 
living,  start  on  a  long,  tedious,  and  perhaps 
dangerous  journey,  to  seek  a  home  in  a 
strange  land  among  strangers,  with  no  other 
motive  than  that  of  bettering  their  circum- 
stances, by  gaining  wealth,  and  heaping  to- 
gether riches,  that  perish  with  the  using,  it 
does  seem  strange  that  so  many  people  do  it. 

The  motive  does  not  seem  to  justify  the 
inconvenience,  the  anxiety,  the  suspense  that 
must  be  endured.    Yet  how  would  the  great 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  3 

West  be  peopled  were  it  not  so  ?  God  knows 
best.  It  is,  without  doubt,  this  spirit  of  rest- 
lessness, and  unsatisfied  longing,  or  ambi- 
tion— if  you  please — which  is  implanted  in 
our  nature  by  an  all- wise  Creator  that  has 
peopled  the  whole  earth. 

This  has  been  a  glorious  May-day.  The 
sky  most  beautifully  blue,  the  atmosphere 
delightfully  pure,  the  birds  twittering  joy- 
ously, the  earth  seems  filled  with  joy  and 
gladness.  God  has  given  us  this  auspicious 
day  to  inspire  our  hearts  with  hope  and  joy- 
ful anticipation,  this  our  first  day's  journey 
on  the  road  across  the  plains  and  mountains. 

It  was  hard  to  say  good-bye  to  our  loved 
and  loving  friends,  knowing  that  we  were 
not  at  all  likely  to  meet  again  in  this  life.  I 
felt  very  much  like  indulging  in  a  good  cry, 
but  refrained,  and  Dick  and  I  were  soon 
speeding  over  the  beautiful  prairie,  overtak- 
ing Cash,  who  had  lingered  behind  the 
others,  waiting  for  me. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Cash  ?'* 


4  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"I  was  wondering  if  we  will  ever  tread 
Missouri  soil  again?" 

''Quite  likely  we  shall,  we  are  young  in 
years,  with  a  long  life  before  us,  no  doubt 
we  will  come  on  a  visit  to  Missouri  when  we 
get  rich." 

We  were  passing  a  very  comfortable  look- 
ing farmhouse,  men,  women,  and  children 
were  in  the  yard,  gazing  after  us,  as  we  can- 
tered past. 

"Don't  you  believe  they  envy  us  and  wish 
they  were  going,  too  ?" 

"No,  why  should  they?" 

"Oh,  because  it  is  so  jolly  to  be  going 
across  the  continent;  it  is  like  a  picnic  every 
day  for  months;  I  was  always  sorry  picnic 
days  were  so  short,  and  now  it  will  be  an  all 
Summer  picnic." 

"I  wish  I  felt  that  way;  aren't  you  sorry 
to  leave  your  friends?" 

"Of  course  I  am,  but  then  I  shall  write 
long  letters  to  them,  and  they  will  write  to 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  $ 

me,  and  I  will  make  new  friends  wherever  I 
go,  and  somehow  I  am  glad  I  am  going." 

After  we  came  within  sight  of  our  cara- 
van we  walked  our  ponies,  and  talked  of 
many  things,  past,  present,  and  future. 
When  within  a  mile  or  two  of  Memphis  our 
first  camp  was  made.  Our  six  wagons,  with 
their  snow-white  covers,  and  Mr.  Ker foot's 
big  tent,  make  a  very  respectable  looking 
camp. 

OUR  FIRST  CAMP. 

As  we  were  provided  with  fresh  bread, 
cake,  cold  chicken,  boiled  ham,  pickles,  pre- 
serves, etc.,  supper  was  quickly  prepared  for 
our  small  family  of  four,  and  we  enjoyed  it 
immensely.  Then  comes  my  time  to  write, 
as  I  have  promised  friends  that  I  will  keep  a 
journal  on  this  trip.  Mr.  Kerfoot  thinks  the 
Government  is  going  to  smash  and  green- 
backs will  not  be  worth  one  cent  on  the  dol- 
lar, so  he  has  turned  all  his  money  into  gold 
coin,   and   stowed   it  into   a  small  leather 


6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

satchel — it  seems  quite  heavy  to  Hft  or 
carry. 

As  Mrs.  Kerfoot  was  sitting  on  a  camp- 
chair  near  our  wagons,  Mr.  Kerfoot  came 
toward  her,  saying,  ''Here,  mother,  I  want 
you  to  take  care  of  this  satchel,  it  is  all  we 
will  ask  you  to  do,  the  girls  will  cook  and 
wash  dishes,  the  boys  take  care  of  the  stock, 
and  I  will  oversee  things  generally,  and  we 
will  do  nicely."  She  accepted  the  responsi- 
bility without  a  word,  and  as  he  walked  away 
she  turned  to  me,  and  said,  "I  wish  it  was  in 
some  good  bank,  I  expect  nothing  else  but 
that  it  will  be  stolen,  and  then  what  will  be- 
come of  us  ?" 

While  I  have  been  writing  Neelie  (Cor- 
nelia) and  Sittie  (Henrietta)  have  been  get- 
ting supper  for  a  family  of  twelve,  no  small 
undertaking  for  them,  as  they  have  been 
used  to  servants  and  know  very  little  about 
cooking. 

When  everything  was  ready,  Neelie  came 
to  her  mother  exclaiming,  "Come,  mamma, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  i 

to  supper,  the  first  ever  prepared  by  your 
own  little  girl,  but  not  the  last  I  hope,  see 
how  nicely  the  table  looks,  Emma  and  Delia 
picked  those  wild  flowers  for  you,  how 
brightly  the  new  tinware  shines,  let  us  imag- 
ine it  is  silver  and  it  will  answer  the  same 
purpose  as  if  it  were." 

Her  mother  smiles  cheerfully,  as  she  takes 
her  arm.  Cash  sneers  at  Neelie's  nonsense — 
as  she  calls  it.  Mr.  Kerfoot  nods  approval,  as 
Neelie  escorts  her  mother  to  the  table.  When 
all  are  seated  Mr.  Kerfoot  bows  his  head  and 
asks  God's  blessing  on  the  meal. 

Every  one  seems  to  enjoy  this  picnic  style 
of  taking  supper  out  of  doors,  and  linger  so 
long  at  the  table,  that  Neelie  has  to  hint  that 
other  work  will  have  to  be  done  before  dark. 
When  at  last  the  table  is  cleared,  she  says 
to  Emma  and  Delia,  "Don't  you  want  to  help 
me  wash  these  nice,  bright  dishes  and  put 
them  away?" 

'  They  are  always  ready  to  help  Neelie,  and 
the  work  is  soon  done.    Amid  laughter  and 


8  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

fun  they  hardly  realize  they  have  been  at 
work.  Mr.  Kerfoot  insists  that  we  women 
and  the  children  must  sleep  in  houses  as  long 
as  there  are  houses  to  sleep  in.  Mother  and 
I  would  greatly  prefer  sleeping  in  our  spring- 
wagon,  to  making  a  bed  on  the  floor  in  a 
room  with  so  many,  but  as  he  has  hired  the 
room  we  do  not  want  to  seem  contrary,  so 
have  offered  no  objection.  The  boys  have 
carried  the  mattresses  and  bedding  into  the 
house,  and  Neelie  has  come  for  me  to  go  with 
her  to  arrange  our  sleeping-room.  So  good- 
night. 

THROUGH   MEMPHIS. 

May  2. 
We  were  up  with  the  sun  this  morning 
after  a  night  of  refreshing  and  restful  sleep. 
Neelie  and  I  commenced  folding  the  bed- 
clothes, ready  to  be  sent  to  the  wagons,  when 
she  startled  me  with  a  merry  peal  of  laugh- 
ter, "Look  here.  Miss  Sallie,  see  ma's  treas- 
ure, she  has  left  it  on  the  floor  under  the 
head  of  her  bed.    Don't  say  anything,  and  I 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  g 

will  put  it  in  the  bottom  of  a  trunk,  where  it 
ought  to  be,  and  we  will  see  how  long  it  will 
be  before  she  misses  it." 

She  thought  of  it  while  at  breakfast,  and 
started  up  excitedly,  "Neelie  daughter,  did 
you  see  that  precious  satchel  ?" 

"Yes,  ma,  I  have  taken  care  of  it,  and  put 
it  where  it  will  not  be  left  lying  around  loose 
any.  more." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  you  have 
taken  care  of  it." 

"Why,  mother,  I  did  not  expect  you  to 
carry  that  burden  around  on  your  arm  by 
day,  and  sleep  with  it  at  night.  I  only  in- 
tend for  you  to  have  entire  charge  of  it,  and 
put  it  where  the  rest  of  us  do  not  know  the 
hiding  place,  so  that  when  we  are  obliged  to 
have  some,  we  will  have  to  come  to  you  to 
get  it.  And  then  give  it  sparingly,  for  much, 
very  much  depends  upon  what  is  in  that 
satchel." 


10  DA  YS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

I  MEET  AN  ACQUAINTANCE. 

We  came  to  Memphis  about  nine  a.m. 
Court  is  in  session,  several  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, who  are  attending  court,  came 
to  the  wagons  to  say  good-bye.  Mother's 
brother.  Uncle  Zack,  was  among  them,  he 
said,  "Remember,  when  you  wish  yourselves 
back  here,  that  /  told  you  not  to  go." 

"Yes,  we  will  when  that  times  comes  and 
send  you  a  vote  of  thanks  for  your  good  ad- 
vice," I  replied. 

Cash,  Neelie  and  I  have  been  riding  our 
ponies  all  day.  We  are  stopping  in  a  beau- 
tiful place  for  camping,  near  the  farmhouse 
of  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fifer.  They  are  very 
pleasant  elderly  people,  who  have  raised  a 
family  of  six  children,  who  are  all  married, 
and  gone  to  homes  of  their  own.  It  is  a  de- 
lightfully homey  home,  yet  it  seems  sad  that 
they  should  be  left  alone  in  their  old  age. 
We  will  sleep  in  the  house  again  to-night,  I 
shall  be  glad  when  we  get  to  where  there  are 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  ii 

no  houses  to  sleep  in,  for  it  does  not  seem 
like  camping  out  when  we  sleep  in  houses. 
Cash  and  Neelie  want  to  sleep  in  the  tent, 
but  their  father  says  no,  and  his  word  is  law 
in  this  camp. 

Wednesday,  May  3. 

Brother  Hillhouse  discovered  very  early 
this  morning  that  the  tire  on  one  of  the 
wheels  of  the  ox-wagon  was  broken.  He 
started  off  ahead  of  the  rest  of  the  wagons  to 
find  a  blacksmith  shop  and  get  it  mended  by 
the  time  we  would  overtake  him.  It  was  ten 
o'clock  when  we  came  to  the  shop,  near  a 
flour-mill.  There  was  a  very  bad  piece  of 
road  before  we  crossed  the  creek,  a  deep 
ditch  had  been  washed  out  by  the  Spring 
rains.  I  waited  to  see  the  wagons  safely 
over,  when  some  one  came  beside  my  pony 
with  outstretched  hand  saying,  "Good-morn- 
ing, Miss  Raymond,  I  see  you  are  in  earnest 
about  crossing  the  plains." 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Smith  ?     Am 


12  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

glad  to  see  you,  of  course  I  am  in  earnest 
about  crossing  the  plains,  but  where  did  you 
come  from?  I  supposed  you  would  be  at 
the  Missouri  River  before  this  time,  have  you 
turned  back?" 

"Oh,  no,  we  are  waiting  for  better  roads 
and  good  company." 

"Come,  go  with  us,  I  will  promise  you 
good  company,  and  the  roads  will  improve." 

"Where  are  Cash  and  Neelie?  I  have  not 
seen  them." 

"They  did  not  stop,  when  I  waited  to  see 
the  wagons  over  the  difficulties." 

"Then  I  have  missed  seeing  them;  was  in 
the  mill  when  they  passed.  Remember  me 
to  them.  We  will  start  again  to-morrow, 
and  will  overtake  you  in  a  few  days,  per- 
haps." 

"Hope  you  will,  good-bye  until  we  meet 
again." 

"Farewell,  may  you  enjoy  as  pleasant  a 
trip  as  you  anticipate." 

"Thank  you,"  and  waving  him  good-bye, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  13 

I  Spoke  to  Dick,  and  he  cantered  up  the  hill 

past  the  mill  and  the  wagons.    I  soon  caught 

up  with  Cash  and  Neelie. 

"Guess  who  I  saw  at  the  mill  ?" 

"Did  you  see  any  one  we  know  ?" 

"Yes,  an  especial  friend  of  yours.  Cash, 

Bob  Smith,  of  Liberty." 

"Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  had  seen  him.     Was 

Thad  Harper  with  him?     Are  they  going 

back  home?" 

"No ;  they  are  waiting  for  better  roads  and 

good  company.    I  did  not  see  Thad  Harper. 

Bob  said  they  will  overtake  us  in  a  few 

days." 

"I  hope  they  will,  they  would  be  quite  an 

addition  to  our  party." 

AN  ADDITION  TO  OUR  PARTY. 

"Yes,  but  they  won't ;  do  you  suppose  they 
are  going  to  let  us  see  them  cooking  and 
washing  dishes?  Not  if  they  know  them- 
selves.    Then  they  would  have  to  play  the 


14  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

agreeable  once  in  a  while,  and  that  is  what 
they  are  not  going  to  do  on  a  trip  of  this 
kind.  I  do  not  expect  to  see  them,  they 
would  rather  stay  where  they  are  another 
week  than  join  our  party." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Neelie,  for  he  did 
not  say  good-bye  as  if  he  expected  to  see  me 
very  soon." 

When  it  was  time  to  stop  for  lunch,  we 
found  a  very  nice  place  and  waited  for  the 
wagons.  While  at  lunch  we  saw  an  emigrant 
wagon,  drawn  by  three  yoke  of  oxen,  coming 
up  the  road,  and  were  somewhat  surprised 
to  see  it  turn  from  the  road  and  come  toward 
our  camp.  It  proved  to  be  Mr.  John  Mil- 
burn,  of  Etna,  and  his  sister  Augusta.  They 
have  traveled  in  one  day  and  a  half  the  dis- 
tance we  have  been  two  and  a  half  days  com- 
ing. 

Miss  Milburn  is  a  very  intelligent,  well- 
educated  young  lady,  some  two  or  three 
years  my  senior.  We  are  not  very  well  ac- 
quainted with  her,  but  have  met  her  fre- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  15 

quently,  and  have  known  of  her  several 
years.  She  is  an  active  member  of  the  Pres- 
byterian Church  at  Etna.  She  has  her  little 
nephew,  Ernest  Talbot,  with  her.  He  is 
seven  years  old,  her  sister's  dying  gift,  a  very 
bright  child  and  considerably  spoiled,  but 
dear  to  his  auntie's  heart  as  her  own  life. 
They  have  started  to  Montana  to  get  rich  in 
the  gold  mines.  Mr.  Milburn  leaves  a  wife 
and  two  small  children  with  his  widowed 
mother,  to  watch,  and  wait,  and  pray  for  his 
success  and  safe  return  home. 

We  crossed  the  dividing  line — though  we 
did  not  see  it — between  Missouri  and  Iowa 
soon  after  noon,  and  it  is  very  probable  some 
of  us  will  never  tread  Missouri  soil  again. 
As  we  were  coming  through  Stilesville,  a 
small  town  this  side  the  line,  there  were  sev- 
eral loafers  in  front  of  a  saloon  who  acted 
very  rudely,  to  say  the  least. 

We  distinctly  heard  such  remarks  as  the 
following,  "Whew,  what  pretty  girls,  and 
how  well  they  ride — Missourians  I'll  bet." 


i6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"Say,  boys,  let's  try  our  luck;  maybe  we 
can  each  hook  a  pony  to-night?" 

Mr.  Milburn's  team  is  so  tired  out  with 
such  fast  driving  that  we  have  stopped  earlier 
than  usual,  and  I  have  had  more  time  to 
write.  We  are  only  two  or  three  miles  from 
Stilesville.  The  weather  is  perfect;  we  will 
sleep  in  the  wagons  to-night.  Mr.  Kerfoot 
thinks  it  necessary  to  guard  the  camp.  I  be- 
lieve it  an  unnecessary  precaution,  for  if 
those  loafers  at  Stilesville  had  meant  mis- 
chief they  would  not  have  expressed  them- 
selves so  freely.  However,  Ezra  and  Frank 
Kerfoot  (Mr.  Kerfoot's  nephews),  Sim  Bu- 
ford,  and  Brother  Hillhouse,  will  take  turns 
standing  guard,  each  one  for  two  hours. 

Thursday,  May  4. 
Oh,  how  we  did  sleep  last  night,  dreamless 
and  sound.  Our  first  night  in  the  wagons 
was  undisturbed  and  sweet.  We  were  up 
with  the  birds  making  ready  for  an  early 
start.  Mother  prepares  breakfast,  while  I 
roll  up  the  beds  and  cover  closely  to  protect 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  i? 

them  from  the  dust;  one  of  the  boys  milks 
the  cows,  while  I  assist  mother,  and  when 
breakfast  of  hot  biscuit,  ham  and  eggs,  apple- 
sauce, coffee,  and  breakfast-food  (which  I 
should  have  mentioned  first),  is  over,  I  strain 
the  milk  into  an  old-fashioned  churn  that  is 
big  at  the  bottom  and  little  at  the  top,  cover 
closely  and  fix  it  in  the  front  of  the  freight 
wagon,  where  it  will  be  churned  by  the  mo- 
tion of  the  wagon,  and  we  have  a  pat  of  the 
sweetest,  most  delicious  butter  when  we  stop 
in  the  evening  that  any  one  ever  tasted. 
Mother  washes  the  dishes,  we  prepare  lunch 
for  our  noon  meal,  I  stow  it  in  the  grub-box 
under  the  seat  in  the  spring-wagon,  the  boys 
take  the  pipe  off  the  little  sheet-iron  stove, 
empty  the  fire  out  and  leave  it  to  cool,  while 
I  am  putting  things  away  in  the  places  where 
they  belong.  It  is  wonderful  how  soon  we 
have  learned  to  live  in  a  wagon,  and  we  seem 
to  have  an  abundance  of  room. 

When  horses  are  harnessed,  oxen  yoked 
— and  everything  ready  to  start,  we  girls 


IS  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

proceed  to  saddle  our  ponies;  some  of  the 
boys  usually  come  and  offer  assistance,  which 
is  politely  declined,  as  we  are  going  to  wait 
upon  ourselves  on  this  trip. 

The  wagons  start,  leaving  us  to  follow  at 
our  leisure.  We  don  our  riding-habits,  made 
of  dark-brown  denim,  that  completely  cover, 
and  protect  us  from  mud  and  dust,  tie  on  our 
sun-bonnets,  mount  our  ponies  unassisted, 
and  soon  overtake  and  pass  the  wagons. 

We  started  this  morning  at  seven  o'clock. 
It  is  delightful  riding  horseback  in  the  early 
morning. 

BLOOMFIELD,  IOWA. 

We  were  on  the  lookout  for  Bloomfield, 
about  ten  o'clock  we  could  see  the  spires  and 
steeples  glittering  in  the  sunshine.  When 
we  reached  the  suburbs  we  stopped  to  wait 
for  the  wagons. 

When  we  reached  the  business  part  of  the 
city,  I  dismounted  and  made  ready  to  do 
some  shopping,  as  a  few  necessary  articles 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  19 

had  been  forgotten  when  purchasing  our  out- 
fit. 

"Aren't  you  going  with  me,  girls  ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no;  not  in  these  togs,  short 
dresses,  thick  shoes,  sun-bonnets,  etc." 

"I  think  we  appear  much  better  in  our 
short  dresses,  thick  shoes,  and  sun-bonnets 
than  we  would  in  trailing  skirts,  French  kid 
shoes,  and  hats  of  the  latest  style,  especially 
as  we  are  emigrants,  and  not  ladies  at  home. 
However,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  suffer  morti- 
fication on  my  account,  some  one  of  the  boys 
will  go  with  me." 

"May  I  go.  Miss  Sallie?"  Ezra  asked. 

"Certainly,  and  thank  you  to." 

We  called  at  two  drug  stores,  one  grocery 
and  several  dry-goods  establishments,  and 
made  several  small  purchases.  The  clerks 
seemed  quite  interested,  and  asked  numerous 
questions.  Some  wished  they  were  going, 
too ;  others  thought  we  had  a  long,  hard  jour- 
ney before  us. 


20  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

When  we  came  back,  they  were  waiting 
for  us.  I  gave  the  satchel  containing  the 
purchases  into  mother's  care,  mounted  Dick, 
and  we  were  soon  on  the  way.  About  a 
mile  from  Bloomfield  we  stopped  for  lunch 
of  sandwiches,  ginger-bread,  cheese,  fruit 
and  milk. 

We  all  have  such  ravenous  appetites,  the 
plainest  food  is  relished  and  enjoyed,  as  we 
never  enjoyed  food  before.  If  any  one  suf- 
fering from  loss  of  appetite,  or  insomnia, 
would  take  a  trip  of  this  kind,  they  would 
soon  find  their  appetite,  and  sleep  the  night 
through  without  waking. 

Brother  Winthrop  wanted  to  ride  Dick 
this  afternoon,  so  I  took  passage  with  mother 
and  drove  the  horses  until  I  began  to  nod, 
when  I  gave  the  lines  to  her  and  climbed 
back  into  the  wagon  for  an  afternoon  nap. 
I  waked  up  as  we  were  driving  into  Drakes- 
ville,  a  small  but  very  pretty  town.  Mother 
and  I  talked  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  she 
enjoys  this  life  as  much  as  I  do;  we  built 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  21 

air-castles  for  our  future  habitation;  I  trust 
there  was  not  enough  selfishness  in  the  build- 
ing material  to  hurt  us  if  they  tumble  about 
our  ears. 

Mother  seems  happier  than  she  has  since 
the  war  commenced,  and  our  eldest  brother, 
Mac,  went  into  the  army.  We  stopped  for 
the  night  earlier  than  usual,  about  five 
o'clock.  We  are  camping  in  a  lane  near  a 
farmhouse. 

Our  little  sheet-iron  stove  is  taken  down 
from  its  place  on  a  shelf  at  the  back  of  the 
freight  wagon.  Mother  gets  dinner  and  pre- 
pares something  for  lunch  to-morrow,  at  the 
same  time.  The  boys  buy  feed  from  the 
farmers,  as  the  grass  is  not  long  enough  to 
satisfy  the  horses  and  cattle.  I  write  as  long 
as  it  is  light  enough  to  see. 

The  young  people  complain  about  my  tak- 
ing so  much  time  to  write,  but  since  I  have 
commenced  I  cannot  stop.  I  am  thinking  all 
the  time  about  what  things  are  worth  re- 
cording. 

(A  call  to  dinner.) 


22  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

BEAUTIFUL  APPLES. 

After  dinner  mother  washes  the  dishes  and 
makes  all  the  arrangements  she  can  for  an 
early  breakfast.  She  thinks  I  am  another 
"Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,"  so  she  is  perfectly- 
willing  to  do  the  work  in  the  evening  and 
let  me  write.  Oh,  the  unselfishness  of 
mothers.  I  do  my  share,  of  course,  morn- 
ings, and  at  noon,  but  evenings  I  only  make 
the  beds  in  both  wagons. 

We  have  white  sheets  and  pillow-cases, 
with  a  pair  of  blankets,  and  light  comforts 
on  both  beds,  just  the  same  as  at  home,  and 
they  do  not  soil  any  more  or  any  quicker,  as 
we  have  them  carefully  protected  from  dust. 

I  had  been  writing  a  little  while  after  din- 
ner, when  Frank  stepped  up  with  a  basket  of 
beautiful  red-cheeked  apples  in  his  hand,  not 
a  wilted  one  among  them. 

"Where  shall  I  put  them?" 

"Oh,  Frank,  how  lovely  they  are.  Where 
did  you  get  them?     Thank  you  so  much; 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  23 

they  are  not  all  for  me?" — ^as  he  emptied  the 
last  one  into  the  pan.  "Are  all  the  others 
supplied  ?    This  seems  more  than  my  share." 

"Yes;  they  are  for  you,  we  bought  the 
farmer's  entire  stock ;  the  others  are  supplied, 
or  will  be  without  you  giving  them  yours." 

He  had  just  gone,  when  Sim  Buford  came 
and  threw  half  a  dozen  especially  beautiful 
ones  into  my  lap. 

"Thank  you,  Sim,  but  I  am  bountifully 
supplied,  don't  you  see?" 

"So  you  are,  but  keep  mine,  too;  I  can 
guess  who  it  was  that  forestalled  me." 
Laughing  as  he  walked  off. 

So  we  are  feasting  on  luscious  apples  this 
evening,  thanks  to  the  generosity  of  our 
young  gentlemen. 

Friday,  May  5. 

We  came  through  Unionville  and  Moravia 

to-day.    Have  traveled  farther  and  later  than 

any  day  yet.     It  was  almost  dark  when  we 

stopped,  and  raining,  too;  to  make  a  bad 


24  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD, 

matter  worse,  we  are  camping  in  a  disagree- 
able muddy  place,  and  have  to  use  lanterns 
to  cook  by. 

We  were  obliged  to  come  so  far  to  get  a 
lot  large  enough  to  hold  the  stock.  We  will 
be  glad  to  sleep  in  the  house  to-night. 

Mrs.  Kerfoot  is  homesick,  blue  and  de- 
spondent this  evening;  she  has  always  had 
such  an  easy  life  that  anything  disagreeable 
discourages  her.  Perhaps  when  the  sun 
shines  again  she  will  feel  all  right. 

Saturday,  May  6. 

This  morning  dawned  clear  and  bright ;  all 
nature  seemed  refreshed  by  yesterday's  rain, 
and  we  started  joyfully  on  our  journey  once 
more.  We  came  through  Iconium  early  in 
the  day,  are  camping  in  Lucas  County,  near 
a  beautiful  farmhouse.  We  expect  to  stay 
here  until  Monday,  as  we  do  not  intend  to 
travel  on  Sundays. 

It  is  a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  some  one 
proposes  a  walk.     As  Cash  is  giving  Win- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  25 

throp  his  first  lessons  in  flirtation,  they,  of 
course,  go  together;  Sim  and  Neelie,  Miss 
Milburn  and  Ezra  are  the  next  to  start,  and 
Frank  is  waiting  to  go  with  me.  Hill  stays 
in  camp,  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Kerfoot 
and  Mr.  Milburn. 

He  is  more  like  an  old  man  than  the  boy 
that  he  is,  not  twenty  yet.  After  we  had 
gone  a  short  distance.  Miss  Milburn  asked  to 
be  excused,  and  returned  to  camp;  Ezra,  of 
course,  going  with  her. 

We  walked  on  for  a  mile  or  more,  enjoy- 
ing the  beautiful  moonlight,  and  having  lots 
of  fun,  as  happy  young  people  will  have. 
When  we  returned  and  I  had  said  good-night 
to  the  others,  I  climbed  into  the  wagon  to 
finish  my  writing  for  the  day  by  the  light  of 
the  lantern. 

The  front  of  Mr.  Milburn's  wagon  almost 
touches  the  back  of  ours,  forming  an  angle. 
I  had  been  writing  a  few  moments  when  I 
heard  sobbing.  I  was  out  in  a  jiffy,  and  had 
gone  to  the  front  of  their  wagon  without 


26  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

stopping  to  think  whether  I  was  intruding. 
"May  I  come  in?"  I  asked,  as  I  stepped  upon 
the  wagon-tongue. 

"Oh,  yes,  come  in,  Miss  Sallie,  but  I  am 
ashamed  to  let  you  see  me  crying,  somehow 
I  could  not  help  it.  I  felt  so  lonely  and  home- 
sick." 

"I  am  sorry  you  feel  lonely  and  home- 
sick. Did  any  of  us  say,  or  do  anything  this 
evening  that  could  have  hurt  you?" 

"Oh,  no ;  not  at  all,  only  I  always  feel  that 
I  am  one  too  many,  when  I  am  with  you  all ; 
you  seem  so  light-hearted  and  happy,  so  free 
from  care,  so  full  of  life  and  fun,  that  I  feel 
that  I  am  a  damper  to  your  joyousness,  for 
I  cannot  get  over  feeling  homesick  and  sad, 
especially  when  night  comes." 

"How  sweetly  Ernest  sleeps,  and  how 
much  he  seems  to  enjoy  this  manner  of  life." 

"Yes ;  he  is  a  great  comfort  to  me,  as  well 
as  a  great  care.  He  is  dearer  to  me  than  to 
any  one  else  in  the  world;  his  father  seems 
to  be  weaned  from  him,  since  they  have  been 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  27 

separated  so  long.  He  has  not  seen  him 
more  than  half  a  dozen  times  since  his  mother 
died.  I  feel  that  he  is  altogether  mine.  May 
God  help  me  to  train  him  for  Heaven.  He 
will  never  know  what  I  have  sacrificed  for 
him.  I  have  a  mind  to  tell  you,  if  you  care 
to  hear,  why  I  am  here,  and  why  I  am  not 
happy." 

"It  may  perhaps  relieve  you,  and  lighten 
the  burden,  to  share  it." 

And  then  she  told  me  what  I  will  record 
to-morrow,  for  it  is  almost  midnight,  and 
mother  has  been  asleep  for  two  hours,  and  I 
must  hie  me  to  bed. 

MISS  milburn's  love  story. 

"Of  course  you  have  heard  about  my  en- 
gagement to  Jim  Miller.  I  know  it  has  been 
talked  about." 

"Yes ;  I  have  heard  the  matter  discussed." 

"We  have  been  engaged  two  years,  and 

were  to  be  married  next  month.    He  insisted 


28  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

that  I  must  give  up  Ernest  to  mother.  I  felt 
that  I  would  be  violating  a  sacred  trust,  and 
that  mother  is  too  old  to  have  the  care  of  such 
a  child,  and  I  told  him  so.  We  quarreled, 
and  while  I  was  feeling  hurt  and  indignant, 
I  told  Brother  John  I  would  go  with  him  to 
Montana.  He  gladly  accepted  my  offer,  and 
his  wife  was  so  glad  John  would  have  some 
one  to  take  care  of  him  if  he  got  sick.  So 
here  I  am  and  I  know  I  ought  not  to  have 
come,  for  Jim  Miller  is  dearer  to  me  than 
my  own  life." 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  yet  I  believe  that 
in  some  way  it  will  be  for  the  best,  you  know 
the  promise,  'All  things  work  together  for 
good,  to  those  who  love  the  Lord.'  " 

"I  will  try  to  believe  it.  You  have  done 
me  good.  Miss  Sallie.  I  am  glad  you  came. 
Come  again." 

Sunday,  May  7. 
"Remember  the  Sabbath  Day  to  keep  it 
holy."     Have  we  obeyed  this  command  to- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  29 

day?  I  fear  not.  We  are  all,  or  very  nearly 
all,  professing  Christians,  yet  we  have  had 
no  public  worship  in  our  camp  to-day,  but 
we  have  all,  to  some  extent,  desecrated  the 
day  by  work. 

Deeds  of  mercy  and  necessity  may  be  done 
on  the  Sabbath  Day  without  sin,  and  mother 
says,  "It  is  very  necessary  that  our  soiled 
clothes,  sheets  and  pillow-cases  should  be 
washed,  and  that  cleanliness  is  next  to  god- 
liness.'* 

The  question  comes  to  me,  Why  is  it  that 
Christians  are  so  loath  to  talk  of  the  things 
that  pertain  to  their  spiritual  life,  and  eternal 
welfare?  Why  so  backward  about  introdu- 
cing a  service  of  worship,  when  so  well 
aware  it  would  meet  with  the  approval  of 
all? 

I  felt  that  Mr.  Kerfoot  was  the  one  to  sug- 
gest a  service  of  prayer  and  praise,  and  read- 
ing the  Scriptures.  Perhaps  he  thought  some 
of  the  ladies  would  mention  it,  so  all  were 
silent,  and  it  is  numbered  with  the  lost  op- 


30  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

portunities  for  doing  something  for  our  Lord 
and  Master.  May  he  pardon  our  sins  of 
omission,  and  may  we  be  permitted  to  atone 
for  the  manner  in  which  we  spent  our  first 
Sabbath  on  this  trip. 

We  have  not  traveled,  so  our  teams  have 
rested  and  done  no  labor,  if  we  have  violated 
the  commandment  ourselves. 

The  weather  is  perfect;  this  is  another 
beautiful  moonlight  night.  The  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  have  gone  for  another  walk 
in  the  same  order  as  last  night,  except  Frank 
went  with  Miss  Milburn,  and  Ezra  is  wait- 
ing for  me. 

A  LETTER  TO  BROTHER  MAC. 

Monday,  May  8. 
I  left  camp  very  early,  and  walked  on 
alone,  that  I  may  write  to  Brother  Mac  be- 
fore the  wagons  overtake  me.  I  am  seated 
in  a  comfortable  fence  corner,  and  here  goes 
for  my  letter : 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  31 

Lucas  County,  Iowa,  May  8,  1865. 
Dear  Brother:  We  were  delayed  sev- 
eral days  after  the  time  set  for  starting,  when 
we  wrote  you  to  meet  us  at  Council  Bluffs 
by  the  loth.  We  thought  I  would  better 
write,  that  you  may  know  we  are  on  the  way, 
and  hope  to  meet  you  by  the  1 5th  or  the  i6th. 
You  must  possess  your  soul  with  patience, 
if  you  get  there  before  we  do,  and  have  to 
wait.  I  could  write  a  long  letter,  I  have  so 
much  to  tell  you,  but  will  wait  until  we  meet. 
Mother  seems  in  better  health  and  spirits 
than  she  has  since  you  went  into  the  army. 
We  are  enjoying  the  trip  very  much,  and  I 
find  piyself  feeling  sorry  for  the  people  that 
have  to  stay  at  home,  and  cannot  travel  and 
camp  out.  Good-bye  until  next  week.  With 
sincerest  love.  Your  sister, 

Sarah. 

The  wagons  are  coming  in  sight,  just  as 
my  letter  is  finished  and  addressed,  and  ready 
to  mail  at  the  next  post-office.     My  pony  is 


32  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

t 

in  harness  to-day,  as  one  of  the  work  horses 
is  a  little  lame,  so  I  will  have  to  ride  in  the 
wagon  or  walk.  As  the  morning  is  so  fine 
I  will  walk  until  I  begin  to  tire. 

Evening. 

Cash  joined  me  in  my  walk,  and  we 
walked  until  noon.  How  wisely  planned  are 
these  physical  bodies  of  ours,  how  easily  in- 
ured to  the  burdens  they  must  bear.  Before 
we  started  on  this  trip,  such  a  walk  as  we 
took  this  morning  would  have  completely 
prostrated  us;  now,  we  did  not  feel  any  in- 
convenience from  the  unusual  exercise. 

Frank  invited  us.  Cash  and  I,  to  ride  in 
his  wagon  this  afternoon.  We  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  made  an  emigrant  visit.  He 
had  arranged  his  wagon  for  our  convenience 
and  comfort,  and  we  spent  a  very  pleasant 
afternoon.  Frank  mailed  my  letter  at  Chara- 
ton,  and  on  his  way  back  bought  candy  and 
nuts  for  a  treat  for  his  visitors,  which  we,  of 
course,  enjoyed  exceedingly. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  33 

I  should  not  care  to  ride  in  an  ox-wagon 
all  the  way  across  the  plains,  but  for  half  a 
day,  once  in  a  while,  it  is  a  pleasant  change, 
especially  when  so  delightfully  entertained. 
The  afternoon  passed  quickly.  We  are 
camping  near  a  large  party  of  emigrants, 
some  of  the  men  came  to  our  camp.  They 
look  tough;  they  are  from  Pike  County, 
Missouri,  on  their  way  to  Oregon. 

Tuesday,  May  9. 
A  beautiful  day  for  horseback  riding,  un- 
til late  this  afternoon,  when  it  commenced 
blowing  a  perfect  gale,  too  severe  to  travel, 
so  we  drove  into  camp  early.  We  came 
through  Ottawa  and  Osceola,  are  camping  in 
Clark  County. 

Wednesday,  May  10. 

A  very  cold  day  for  this  time  of  year,  too 

cold  to  think  of  riding  horseback,  so  we  all 

took  passage  in  the  wagons.     As  we  have 

plenty  to  read,  and  lots  of  visiting  to  do,  it  is 


34  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

no  hardship  to  ride  in  the  wagon  for  a 
day. 

The  boys  have  made  a  splendid  camp-fire, 
and  we  are  getting  thawed  out,  cheered,  and 
ready  for  a  jolly  evening.  There  was  just 
one  stunted  oak  left  standing,  away  out  here 
in  this  great  expanse  of  prairie — for  our 
especial  benefit,  it  seems.  The  boys  cut  it 
down,  and  taking  the  trunk  for  a  back-log, 
the  top  and  branches  to  build  the  fire,  we 
have  a  glorious  camp-fire  away  out  here  in 
Union  County,  Iowa.  It  is  surprising  to 
find  Iowa  so  sparsely  settled,  we  travel  some- 
times half  a  day  and  do  not  see  a  home. 
There  are  always  a  few  farms  near  the 
towns.  The  settlements  are  the  only  breaks 
in  the  monotonous  landscape. 

Oh,  the  tedious,  tiresome  monotony  of 
these  vast  extended  prairies:  To  look  out 
and  away,  over  these  seemingly  endless 
levels,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  see 
only  grass,  grass  everywhere,  with  beauti- 
ful prairie  flowers,  of  course,  but  the  flowers 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  35 

cannot  be  seen  in  the  distance.  No  earthly 
consideration  would  induce  me  to  make  a 
home  on  any  of  these  immense  prairie  levels. 
How  my  eyes  long  for  a  sight  of  beautiful 
trees,  and  running  streams  of  water;  how 
delightful  to  stroll  in  the  woods  once  more. 

Thursday,  May  ii. 
The  wish  expressed  last  evening  is  real- 
ized in  a  manner.  We  are  camping  in  a  strip 
of  timber  along  the  banks  of  a  creek — or 
branch,  rather.  But  then  it  is  such  a  slow- 
going  stream,  not  at  all  limpid,  clear,  or 
sparkling  as  a  brook  ought  to  be.  It  can 
hardly  be  called  a  running  stream,  for  it  goes 
too  slowly.  I  think  creeping  or  crawling 
would  be  more  appropriate.  We  came 
through  Afton  to-day. 

THE  ICARIAN  COMMUNITY. 

Friday,  May  12. 
Brother     Hillhouse's     birthday.      He    is 
twenty  years  old.    We  made  a  birthday  cake 


Z6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

for  him  last  night.  We  divided  it  into 
twenty  pieces  at  lunch  to-day,  and  there  was 
just  enough  to  go  around  and  leave  two 
pieces  for  himself.  The  girls  say  we  must 
have  some  kind  of  a  jollification  to-night.  I 
hope  they  will  leave  me  out,  for  I  want  to 
write  about  the  "Icarian  Community."  We 
came  through  Queen  City  this  morning,  and 
this  afternoon  came  to  a  town  of  French 
people,   called   ''The   Icarian   Community." 

(Call  to  dinner.) 

Later :    They  have  excused  me. 

But  why  Icarian?  I  cannot  understand, 
for  certainly  they  did  not  impress  me  as  high 
flyers,  neither  as  flyers  at  all.  They  seemed 
the  most  humdrum,  slow-going,  even-tenor, 
all-dressed-alike  folks  I  have  ever  seen. 
Every  dwelling  is  exactly  alike,  log-cabins  of 
one  room,  with  one  door,  one  window,  a  fire- 
place with  stick  chimney.  I  rode  close  by 
the  open  doors  of  some  of  the  houses,  and 
tried  to  talk  with  the  women,  but  we  could 
not  understand  each  other  at  all.    The  floors, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  37 

windows  and  everything  in  the  houses  were 
scrupulously  clean,  but  not  one  bit  of  bright- 
ness or  color,  not  a  thread  of  carpet,  or  a  rug, 
and  all  the  women's  and  girls'  dresses  made 
of  heavy  blue  denim,  with  white  kerchiefs 
around  the  shoulders  and  pinned  across  the 
front  of  the  waist,  the  skirt  above  the  ankles, 
and  very  narrow  and  heavy  thick-soled  shoes. 
The  men  and  boys  all  looked  alike  too,  but  I 
did  not  observe  them  closely  enough  to  de- 
scribe them. 

There  are  several  large,  long  buildings, 
one  with  a  large  bell  in  belfry  on  top  of 
building.  They  are  dining-hall,  town-hall, 
school-house  and  two  others.  I  did  not  learn 
what  they  are  used  for.  All  the  buildings 
are  one  story,  of  the  plainest  architecture, 
for  the  one  purpose  of  shelter  from  sun  and 
storm.  There  is  not  a  thing  to  ornament  or 
beautify,  not  a  shade-tree  or  flower,  yet 
everything — men,  women,  children,  houses, 
yards  and  streets — are  as  clean  as  they  can  be 
made. 


38  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

They  are  peaceable,  law-abiding  citizens, 
live  entirely  independent  of  the  people  of  ad- 
joining neighborhoods.  They  are  supposed 
to  be  wealthy ;  the  town  is  the  center  of  well- 
cultivated  and  well-stocked  farms. 

The  principle  upon  which  the  community 
is  founded  is  "Brotherly  Love,"  a  sort  of  co- 
operative communism,  in  which  all  things 
are  the  common  property  of  all.  They  live 
upon  what  their  farms  produce,  have  vast 
herds  of  cattle  and  sheep,  a  fine  site  for  their 
town,  and  seem  the  picture  of  contentment, 
which  is  better  than  riches. 

We  stopped  within  sight  of  Quincy,  and 
another  camping  outfit.  We  soon  learned 
they  are  Mr.  Harding  and  Mr.  Morrison  and 
family,  from  Lewis  County.  We  are  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Harding  and  have  often 
heard  of  the  Morrisons. 

Mr.  Morrison  and  Mr.  Harding  came 
over,  and  the  men  have  had  a  sociable,  gos- 
siping time  this  evening;  the  men  can  sur- 
pass the  women  gossiping  any  time,  notwith- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  39 

standing  the  general  belief  to  the  contrary. 
The  young  folks  have  been  playing  games 
to  celebrate  Hillhouse's  birthday.  They  had 
hard  work  to  get  him  to  join  them. 

A  SWING  AMONG  THE  TREES. 

Saturday,  May  13. 
We  drove  only  until  noon,  and  stopped  to 
stay  over  Sunday,  so  that  we  can  do  our 
washing  and  baking,  without  violating  the 
Sabbath.  We  do  not  have  collars  and  cuffs, 
and  fine  starched  things  to  do  up,  but  we 
have  a  great  many  pocket  handkerchiefs, 
aprons,  stockings,  etc.  We  have  pretty  bead 
collars  made  of  black  and  white  beads,  tied 
with  a  ribbon,  that  always  look  nice  and  do 
not  get  soiled.  We  are  in  a  beautiful  grove 
of  trees.  The  boys  have  put  up  a  swing. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  way  of  play  that  I 
enjoy  as  I  do  a  good  high  swing.  There 
are  plenty  of  boys  to  swing  us  as  high  as  we 
want  to  go.    I  fear  the  Sabbath  will  be  dese- 


40  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

crated  with  play  to-morrow,  if  not  with 
work,  for  the  temptation  to  swing  will  be 
hard  to  resist. 

Sunday,  May  14. 

The  horses  went  off  two  or  three  miles  last 
night,  the  men  were  all  off  bright  and  early 
this  morning  hunting  them.  Mr.  Kerfoot 
found  them,  and  came  back  about  nine 
o'clock.  By  the  time  they  were  all  here  the 
morning's  work  was  finished  and  we  were 
ready — for  what  ? 

A  day  to  spend  in  rest  and  service  for  the 
Master  ?  Oh,  no.  A  day  spent  in  swinging, 
frivolous  conversation,  and  fun.  I  am 
ashamed  to  tell  it,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true, 
and  I  believe  we  all  thought  less  about  a 
service  of  worship  than  we  did  last  Sunday. 
It  is  so  hard  to  get  right,  if  we  do  not  start 
right. 

We  have  visitors  in  camp  to-night,  two 
gentlemen  from  Clark  County,  neighbors  of 
the  Kerfoots — Mr.   Suitor  and  Mr.   Rain. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  41 

They  started  for  the  gold  mines  in  Montana 
two  or  three  weeks  ago.  After  reaching  the 
Missouri  River  they  heard  such  frightful 
stories  of  Indian  depredations  being  com- 
mitted on  the  plains  that  they  sold  their  out- 
fit for  what  they  could  get,  and  are  returning 
home  on  horseback.  Poor  fellows,  how  I 
pity  any  man  that  has  so  little  grit.  I  should 
think  they  would  be  ashamed  to  show  their 
faces  to  their  neighbors,  and  say,  "We  were 
afraid,  so  we  came  back  home." 

I  believe  Mrs.  Kerfoot  is  the  only  one  of 
our  party  who  would  be  willing  to  turn  back, 
and  perhaps  she  would  not  if  it  were  put  to 
the  test.  We  would  not  like  to  be  scalped 
and  butchered  by  the  Indians,  but  it  does 
seem  so  cowardly  to  run  away  from  a  possi- 
ble danger.  'The  everlasting  arms  are  un- 
derneath." God  can,  and  will,  take  care  of 
us  as  well  on  the  plains  as  anywhere.  He  is 
leading  us  through  unknown  paths.  We  can 
trust  Him.  Heaven  is  as  near  one  place  as 
another. 


42  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Our  second  Sunday  has  not  been  much  of 
an  improvement  on  our  first.  The  first  we 
worked,  to-day  we  have  played.  The  boys 
swung  us  all  morning,  until  we  were  ready  to 
"holler  nuff."  We  had  Sunday  dinner 
between  two  and  three  o'clock,  then  we  wrote 
letters  to  friends  at  home,  read  until  sleepy, 
took  a  nap  of  an  hour,  then  Mr. Suitor  and 
Mr.  Rain  came,  and  we  listened  to  their 
frightful  stories  of  what  the  Indians  are  do- 
ing to  emigrants. 

I  left  them  in  disgust,  to  come  and  record 
our  misdoings  of  this,  our  second,  Sunday 
on  the  road.  It  is  almost  bedtime,  and  I 
must  make  the  beds,  for  we  are  early  to  bed 
and  early  to  rise  while  on  this  trip. 


A  FATAL  ACCIDENT. 

•      Monday,  May  15. 
Alas,  alas!     How  can  I  write  the  disas- 
trous happenings  of  this  day?     My  hand 
trembles  and  my  pencil  refuses  to  write  in- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  43 

telligibly  when  I  attempt  to  record  the  sad, 
oh,  so  sad,  accident  that  has  befallen  us.  We 
parted  from  our  visitors  this  morning,  and 
started  on  our  way,  feeling  rested  and  glad 
to  be  journeying  on  again.  How  little  we 
knew  of  what  a  day  would  bring  forth.  We 
stopped  for  lunch  at  noon  in  a  little  vale,  or 
depression,  on  the  prairie,  but  where  there 
was  no  water.  Just  as  we  had  finished  our 
lunch,  Neelie  came,  she  said,  to  see  if  we 
could  make  an  exchange  for  the  afternoon, 
her  mother  riding  with  mine,  and  I  with  the 
young  folks  in  the  family  wagon.  Of  course 
it  was  soon  arranged,  and  I  told  her  I  would 
come  as  soon  as  I  helped  mother  put  things 
away.  (We  sometimes  visit  in  this  way.) 
Mrs.  Kerfoot  soon  came  around,  and  when 
everything  was  ready  I  started  to  go  to  their 
wagon.  It  was  the  last  one  in  the  train.  As 
I  was  passing  Mr.  Milburn's  wagon  he  called 
to  me  to  "Come  and  get  a  drink  of  water." 
He  had  taken  a  long  walk,  and  found  clear, 
pure  water,  not  very  cold,  but  much  better 


44  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

than  none  at  all.  I  gratefully  accepted  a  cup. 
He  and  his  sister  then  invited  me  to  ride  with 
them.  I  told  them  of  my  engagement  with 
Neelie,  and,  of  course,  they  excused  me.  Oh, 
that  I  had  accepted  their  invitation ;  just  such 
a  little  thing  as  that  might  have  prevented 
this  dreadful  accident.  Such  great  events 
turn  on  such  little  hinges  sometimes.  About 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as  we  were 
plodding  along  after  the  fashion  of  emigrant 
teams,  we  young  people  in  the  last  wagon, 
having  a  jolly  sociable  time,  with  song  and 
laughter,  fun  and  merriment,  the  front 
wagons  stopped.  Ezra,  who  was  driving, 
turned  out  of  the  road  and  passed  some  of 
the  wagons  to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  Mr. 
Kerfoot  came  running  toward  us,  calling  to 
Neelie,  "Get  the  camphor,  daughter,  Mr. 
Milburn  has  shot  himself  somehow,  and  has 
fainted." 

Ezra  got  out  to  go  with  him  and  Neelie 
asked,  ''Shall  we  come,  too,  papa?" 

"No,  my  daughter,  you  girls  would  better 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  45 

Stay  here,  your  ma  and  Mrs.  Raymond  are 
with  Gus,  and  they  will  know  what  to  do." 

Before  he  had  finished  what  he  was  saying 
they  were  running  to  the  place  of  the  acci- 
dent. We  could  only  wait,  hoping  and  pray- 
ing, oh,  so  earnestly,  that  it  might  not  prove 
so  serious  as  Mr.  Ker foot's  manner  and  tone 
caused  us  to  fear.  Afterward,  Winthrop 
came  to  us;  he  was  pale,  with  compressed 
lips,  and  sad  eyes ;  he  came  up  close,  leaned 
upon  the  wagon  wheel,  and  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "He  is  dead."  Oh,  how  dreadful.  We 
all  left  the  wagon  and  went  to  the  front  as 
fast  as  we  could. 

I  have  gathered  from  witnesses  the  follow- 
ing account  of  how  it  happened.  There  was 
a  flock  of  prairie  chickens  ahead  of  the 
wagons  to  the  left  of  the  road.  Mr.  Milburn 
and  several  of  the  boys  took  their  guns  and 
were  going  to  try  to  thin  their  number.  The 
wagons  had  not  halted,  but  were  moving 
slowly  on,  the  hunters  had  gone  on  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  wagons,  they  tried  to  fire 


46  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

all  together,  one  of  the  boys  snapped  two 
caps  on  his  gun,  it  failed  to  go  off,  so  he 
threw  the  gun  into  the  front  wagon,  and 
took  his  whip,  in  disgust.  The  wagon  had 
moved  on  to  where  Mr.  Milburn  was  stand- 
ing with  his  gun  raised;  there  was  a  shot, 
Mr.  Milburn  dropped  to  his  knees,  turned 
and  looked  at  his  sister,  saying,  "Gus.  I  am 
shot."  And  fell  forward  on  his  face.  She 
was  in  the  next  wagon. 

BEREAVEMENT. 

Gus  screamed,  jumped  from  the  wagon, 
ran  to  her  brother,  and  raised  his  head  in  her 
arms.  All  who  were  near  enough  to  hear 
her  scream  ran  to  them  and  she  said,  "John 
has  hurt  himself  with  his  gun  and  has 
fainted,  bring  restoratives  quick." 

In  a  few  seconds,  there  were  half  a  dozen 
bottles,  with  brandy,  camphor,  ammonia 
there,  and  every  effort  was  made  to  restore 
him,  but  all  in  vain.  He  died  instantly  and 
without  a  struggle. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  47 

When  Mr.  Kerfoot  knew  he  was  dead,  he 
looked  for  the  wound  and  found  a  bullet-hole 
between  his  shoulders.  Just  then  one  of  the 
boys  picked  up  his  gun  where  he  had  dropped 
it  and  exclaimed,  "It  was  not  this  gun  that 
did  the  mischief,  for  it  is  cold,  and  the  load 
is  in  it." 

On  looking  around  to  find  where  the 
deadly  shot  had  come  from,  some  one  took 
hold  of  the  gun  in  the  front  wagon.  "Why, 
this  gun  is  warm.  It  must  have  been 
this  gun  went  off." 

"Oh,  no;  it  could  not  have  been  that  gun, 
for  there  was  no  cap  on  it,"  said  the  boy  who 
had  thrown  the  gun  there. 

Circumstances  proved  that  it  was  the  gun 
without  a  cap  that  did  the  fatal  shooting.  I 
would  have  supposed,  as  the  boy  did,  that  it 
was  perfectly  harmless  without  a  cap.  I 
have  heard  it  said,  "It  is  the  unloaded  gun, 
or  the  one  that  is  supposed  to  be  unloaded, 
that  generally  does  the  mischief."  No  doubt 
the  hammer  was  thrown  back  when  he  threw 


48  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

it  in  the  wagon.  On  investigating  we  found 
a  rut  in  the  wheel-track  just  where  he  fell. 
It  is  possible  that  when  the  front  wheel 
dropped  into  the  rut  with  a  jolt  the  hammer 
fell,  igniting  the  powder,  either  by  the  com- 
bustible matter  that  stuck,  or  by  the  flash 
occasioned  by  the  metal  striking  together. 
Mr.  Milburn  was  not  opposite  the  wagon 
when  he  raised  his  gun  to  shoot,  but  the 
wagons  were  moving  slowly  and  the  front 
one  came  up  with  him  as  he  was  taking  aim, 
and  that  was  why  Gus  thought  it  was  his 
own  gun.  She  saw  the  smoke  rise,  he 
stumbled  and  fell  to  his  knees,  she  called  to 
him.     "Why,  John,  what  made  you  fall  ?" 

He  looked  around  at  her  and  said,  "Oh, 
Gus,  I  am  shot."    The  last  words  he  spoke. 

How  hard  to  be  reconciled  to  such  a  dis- 
pensation when  such  a  little  thing  could  have 
prevented  it,  only  one  step  in  either  direc- 
tion, or  the  gun  pointed  the  other  way.  Why, 
oh,  why,  has  this  awful  thing  happened  ? 

The  poor  boy  seems  to  be  as  heart-stricken 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  49 

as  Gus.     In  her  unselfish  grief  she  has  been 
trying  to  comfort  him. 

I  have  read  of  a  minister  of  the  Grospel 
"who  dreamed  that  he  died;  after  entering 
the  gates  of  Heaven  he  was  led  into  a  large 
empty  room,  on  the  walls  of  which  his  whole 
life  was  spread  out  as  a  panorama.  He  saw 
all  the  events  of  his  life,  and  many  that  had 
been  hard  to  understand  in  his  lifetime  were 
here  made  clear,  and  through  it  all  the  guid- 
ing, protecting  hand  of  God  had  been  over 
him/*  Perhaps  Mr.  Milburn  is  saved  from 
a  worse  fate. 

We  were  about  three  miles  from  Frank- 
fort when  the  accident  happened.  We  came 
on  here  as  soon  as  possible — a  sorrowing, 
and  oh,  so  sorrowful,  procession  now.  It 
does  not  seem  that  we  can  ever  be  the  merry 
party  that  we  have  been.  Winthrop  had 
been  riding  Dick;  he  stood  there,  ready, 
saddled  and  bridled  when  Mr.  Milburn  fell ; 
Frank  mounted  my  pony  and  rode  as  fast  as 
he  could  go  to  Frankfort  to  get  a  doctor. 


50  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Mr.  Milburn  was  dead  before  he  was  out  of 
sight.  We  met  them  as  we  came.  A  room 
has  been  rented  and  Mr.  Milburn  prepared 
for  his  last  long  sleep.  The  people  of  Frank- 
fort are  very  kind,  and  sympathetic. 

A  Funeral. 

Tuesday,  May  i6. 
The  boys  sat  up  with  the  corpse  last  night. 
I  stayed  with  Gus.  We  had  only  just  shut 
ourselves  in  when  a  terrific  storm  came  upon 
us;  the  wind  blew,  and  the  rain  fell  in  tor- 
rents. Before  eleven  o'clock  it  had  passed; 
soon  after  Gus  slept  heavily.  It  seemed 
hours  before  I  slept.  Very  early  this  morn- 
ing Gus  awakened  me  praying.  How  surely 
do  the  sorrows  of  this  life  drive  us  to  the 
mercy-seat  for  comfort,  refuge  and  strength. 

"Had  earth  no  thorns  among  its  flowers, 
And  life  no   fount  of  tears, 
We  might  forget  our  better  home 
Beyond  this  vale  of  tears." 

What  a  precious,  what  a  comforting,  sat- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  51 

isfying  faith  the  Presbyterian  faith  must  be, 
if  one  can  really  and  conscientiously  accept 
it.  According  to  their  belief  one  never  dies, 
nothing  ever  happens  without  God's  provi- 
dence, approval,  and  foreknowledge  that  it 
will  happen  in  just  that  way. 

I  wish  I  could  accept  such  a  faith,  and  be- 
lieve it,  but  I  cannot.  I  do  not  believe  it  was 
ordained  that  Mr.  Milburn  should  die  in  that 
way  and  at  that  time.  I  believe  it  was  an 
accident  that  might  have  been  prevented  by 
the  most  trivial  circumstance.  The  laws  of 
nature  are  inexorable.  If  a  bullet  is  shot  into 
a  vital  part  of  the  body  it  kills.  Yet  God  is 
able  to  bring  good  out  of  this  seemingly 
great  and  grievous  evil.  I  do  not  know 
which  suffers  most — the  poor  boy  whose  gun 
did  the  deed  or  Gus.  They  seem  to  take 
comfort  in  each  other's  society,  and  are  to- 
gether the  most  of  the  time  to-day.  I  am  so 
sorry  for  both  of  them. 

The  funeral  services  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  were  held  at  two  o'clock  this  after- 


52  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

noon,  a  resident  minister  officiating.  Mr. 
Milburn  was  very  nicely  laid  away,  and  his 
grave  marked  and  enclosed  with  a  neat, 
strong  fence  before  Gus  and  I  left  the  ceme- 
tery. The  people  have  been  so  very  kind. 
The  funeral  was  largely  attended  for  a 
stanger  in  a  strange  place.  There  is  no  tele- 
graph office  here,  so  we  have  had  to  write 
letters  instead  of  sending  telegrams. 

I  believe  Gus's  plans  are  to  go  on  with  us 
to  the  Missouri  River,  sell  her  outfit,  and  re- 
turn home  by  steamboat  down  the  Missouri 
River,  up  the  Mississippi  to  Canton,  where 
friends  will  meet  her  and  go  with  her  to 
Etna. 

Wednesday,  May  17. 
Another  night  with  Gus.  She  wakes  in  the 
morning  to  weep.  We  started  once  more  on 
our  now  sad  journey.  I  have  ridden  with  Gus 
all  day.  We  do  not  hear  the  sound  of  song 
and  laughter  as  we  did  last  week;  we  all 
seem  to  be  under  a  pall.    We  came  through 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  53 

Redoak  this  morning,  are  camping  in  a  beau- 
tiful place,  near  a  pleasant,  homelike  farm- 
house.   The  weather  is  perfect. 

Thursday,  May  i8. 

The  friends  that  stayed  with  us  Sunday 
night  told  us  that  the  authorities  are  not  al- 
lowing emigrants  to  take  the  northern  route, 
because  of  the  Indian  depredations  that  have 
been  committed  on  that  route.  That  if  we 
went  to  Council  Bluffs  we  would  have  to 
come  down  the  river  to  Platsmouth  to  get  on 
the  southern  route.  So  we  changed  our 
course  accordingly. 

We  came  through  Whitecloud,  Glenwood 
and  Pacific  City  to-day.  At  Whitecloud  I 
made  a  few  purchases,  traded  with  a  little 
German  merchant  who  crossed  the  plains  a 
year  ago;  he  says  we  have  a  delightful  trip 
before  us.  He  expects  to  go  again  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  make  his  home  there, 
as  soon  as  he  can  sell  out  and  settle  up  his 
business  here. 


54  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Just  before  we  came  to  Glenwood,  as  the 
girls  passed  on  their  ponies,  Gus  said  to  me, 
"Sallie,  go  ride  your  pony,  too ;  you  have  not 
had  a  ride  for  several  days.  Pardon  me  if  I 
have  been  selfish  in  my  great  sorrow." 

"No,  Gus,  I  would  rather  stay  with  you 
than  to  ride  Dick,  as  long  as  you  need  me." 

"Thank  you,  dear ;  your  company  has  been 
very  grateful  to  me,  but  now  I  would  really 
enjoy  seeing  you  ride  through  Glenwood." 

To  please  her,  and  myself,  too,  I  soon  had 
saddled  and  mounted  Dick  and  overtaken  the 
girls.  As  we  were  riding  through  Glenwood 
a  photographer  sent  a  messenger  to  request 
us  to  "Please  stop  five  minutes  and  let  him 
take  our  picture."  We  rode  to  the  position 
indicated,  doffed  our  sun-bonnets,  and  looked 
as  pleasant  as  we  could.  We  did  not  wait  to 
see  the  proof,  and  I  expect  he  was  disap- 
pointed. 

Pacific  City  is  on  the  Missouri  bottom,  or 
lowlands.  Above  the  town  are  the  highest 
bluffs  I  have  ever  seen.    We  hitched  our 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  55 

ponies  and  climbed  to  the  top.  The  view 
was  magnificently  grand,  the  sun  sinking  in 
the  west,  the  river  could  be  seen  in  the  dis- 
tance, with  large  trees  on  the  banks,  the  low- 
land between  the  bluffs  and  the  trees  was 
dotted  with  cattle  and  horses  grazing,  here 
and  there  a  pond  or  small  lake  with  its  wa- 
ters shining  and  sparkling  in  the  glimmer- 
ing sunset,  the  city  below  us  in  the  shadow  of 
the  bluffs.  Everything  was  so  sweet  and 
peaceful,  we  were  more  than  paid  for  our 
climb.  The  wagons  had  passed  before  we 
came  down,  so  we  mounted  and  hastened  to 
overtake  them  before  driving  into  camp. 

ON  THE  BANKS  01^  THE  BIG  MUDDY. 

Our  journey  across  Iowa  at  an  end,  we 
are  on  the  banks  of  the  Big  Muddy,  opposite 
Platsmouth.  We  will  stay  here  until  Gus's 
things  are  sold,  and  we  have  seen  her  off  on 
the  steamboat.  I  stay  with  her  nights,  and 
this  afternoon  is  the  first  time  I  have  left  her 
since  the  15th. 


56  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Friday,  May  19. 
I  went  over  to  Platsmouth  on  the  ferry- 
boat this  morning  with  some  friends  that  are 
camping  near  us,  to  do  some  shopping  for 
Gus.  I  bought  a  black  bonnet,  crepe  veil  and 
collar,  and  material  for  black  suit,  which  we 
will  make  up  in  camp,  as  there  is  a  dress- 
maker with  us.  I  was  away  about  five  hours 
and  came  back  tired  and  hungry.  The 
weather  is  perfect.  We  have  a  very  pleasant 
place  to  camp,  and  pleasant  people  camping 
near  us.  We  are  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
emigrants'  camps,  and  still  they  come.  It 
seems  like  a  young  town,  only  the  houses  are 
built  of  canvas  instead  of  lumber,  brick  or 
stone.  The  boys  have  put  up  a  swing,  but 
I  have  no  time  for  swinging  to-day. 

Saturday,  May  20. 

We  have  had  a  very,  very  busy  day.    Mr. 

Kerfoot  has   sold   Gus's  wagon  and  team 

(three  yoke  of  oxen)  for  $550,  a  good  price 

every  one  says.    More  than  they  cost  them, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  57 

I  believe.  The  freight  will  be  sold  at  auction. 
We  have  all  helped  with  Gus's  suit  and  it  is 
almost  finished.  Hillhouse  went  up  to  Coun- 
cil Bluffs  this  morning,  expecting  to  bring 
Brother  Mac  back  with  him.  Instead  of  find- 
ing him  he  got  a  letter — also  the  one  I  wrote 
a  week  ago — saying  he  was  not  coming.  He 
has  decided  to  study  medicine  and  will  come 
west  when  he  is  an  M.D.  We  are  disap- 
poiftted,  of  course,  yet  perhaps  it  is  for  the 
best — we  must  try  and  believe  so  anyway. 
Most  perfect  weather. 

The  Morrison  and  Harding  outfit  have 
come,  also  several  other  families  from  Lewis 
and  Clark  counties.  The  Kerfoots  are  ac- 
quainted with  some  of  them.  They  had 
heard  of  the  sad  accident.  Some  of  them 
were  friends  of  Mr.  Milburn. 

OUR  LAST  DAY  WITH   MISS  MILBURN. 

Sunday,  May  21. 
Mr.  Thatcher  and  his  wife  came  to  call 
upon  Gus  this  afternoon,  and  invited  her  to 


58  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

their  home  in  Platsmouth  to  stay  until  she 
takes  the  steamboat  for  home.  Mr.  That- 
cher and  Mr.  Milburn  have  been  friends  for 
years.  She  accepted  their  invitation  and  will 
go  there  to-morrow. 

As  the  people  from  different  camps  were 
sitting  around  an  immense  camp-fire,  not  far 
from  our  wagons,  someone  proposed  music. 
Some  of  the  men  in  Mr.  Clark's  camp  are 
fine  musicians,  they  brought  their  violin  and 
flute,  and  gave  several  instrumental  pieces, 
then  some  familiar  songs  were  sung  and 
someone  started  ^'J^st  Before  the  Battle, 
Mother."  They  had  sung  two  verses  when  I 
heard  a  shriek  from  Gus's  wagon.  I  has- 
tened to  see  what  was  the  matter.  "Oh,  Sal- 
lie,  tell  them  to  please  not  sing  that,  I  can- 
not bear  it.  Dear  Brother  John  used  to  sing 
it  so  much.  It  breaks  my  heart  to  hear  it 
now." 

I  sent  Winthrop,  who  had  followed  me,  to 
ask  them  to  stop  singing.    Poor  Gus,  she  was 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  $9 

more  overcome  than  I  have  seen  her  since  her 
bereavement. 

Monday,  May  22. 

Mr.  Kerfoot,  Cash,  Neelie,  Ezra  and  I 
came  with  Gus  to  Platsmouth.  She  said 
good-bye  to  mother,  Mrs.  Kerfoot  and  the 
others  this  morning.  All  were  sorry  to  part 
with  her.  She  has  become  very  dear  to  us 
all.  Gus's  freight  was  brought  over  in  the 
wagon  and  sold  at  public  auction  and 
brought  good  figures,  thanks  to  Mr.  That- 
cher, who,  when  he  saw  anything  going  be- 
low its  real  value,  bid  it  in  himself.  He  has 
a  grocery  store.  He  and  Mr.  Kerfoot  have 
attended  to  all  business  transactions  for  Gus, 
so  that  she  has  not  been  bothered  at  all,  and 
have  done  better  for  her  than  they  could  have 
done  for  themselves. 

We  have  had  a  quiet,  pleasant  day  with 
Gus  at  Mrs.  Thatcher's  home.  She  is  very 
kind,  and  has  invited  us  girls  to  stay  with 
Gus  until  she  takes  the  boat  for  home,  and 
Gus  begged  us  to  stay  with  her  as  long  as 


6o  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

possible ;  so  Cash  and  I  are  staying  all  night, 
and  will  see  her  on  board  the  boat  to-morrow 
morning.  Neelie  has  returned  to  camp  with 
her  father  and  Ezra. 

Ernest  is  a  great  care  and  worries  his 
auntie.  He  will  not  stay  in  the  house,  and  she 
cannot  bear  to  have  him  out  of  her  sight  for 
fear  something  will  happen  to  him;  she  has 
just  now  undressed  him,  heard  his  little 
prayer,  and  put  him  to  bed  in  the  next  room. 
So  I  hope  we  can  have  uninterrupted  quiet 
for  awhile. 

Tuesday,  May  23. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thatcher,  Cash  and  I  came 
with  Gus  and  Ernest  to  the  steamboat.  We 
parted  with  them  about  nine  o'clock  on  board 
the  "Sioux  City."  Dear  friend,  I  have  be- 
come greatly  attached  to  her,  in  the  three 
weeks  we  have  been  so  intimately  associated. 
May  God  grant  her  a  quick  and  safe  journey 

Note. — Miss  Milburn  and  her  lover  were  married 
about  six  months  after  her  return,  and  have  lived 
happily,  etc. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  6i 

home.  We  cannot  hope  it  will  be  a  happy 
one. 

Cash  and  I  came  directly  to  camp,  after 
saying  good-bye  to  Gus;  found  every  one 
busy  getting  ready  for  an  early  start  to-mor- 
row. We  have  been  here  almost  a  week,  yet 
I  have  not  had  time  to  try  the  fine  swing  the 
boys  put  up  the  next  day  after  we  came  here 
until  this  afternoon.  The  camps  that  were 
here  over  Sunday  are  all  gone  except  those 
that  will  travel  with  us.  It  is  probable  there 
will  be  half  a  dozen  more  camps  here  before 
night.  It  is  surprising  to  see  what  a  great 
number  of  people  are  going  west  this 
Spring. 

We  hope  to  start  very  early  to-morrow 
morning.  I  trust  our  party  will  not  be  so 
much  like  a  funeral  procession  as  it  has  been 
since  the  15th.  Vain  regrets  cannot  remedy 
the  past,  and  I  believe  it  is  our  duty  to  be  as 
cheerful  and  happy  as  possible  in  this  life. 


62  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 


WE  HAVE  OUR  PICTURES  TAKEN. 

Wednesday,  May  24. 

We  were  up  with  the  earliest  dawn,  and 
our  own  individual  outfit  ready  for  a  very 
early  start,  yet  it  was  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
noon before  all  the  wagons  were  landed  on 
the  west  bank  of  the  Missouri.  It  takes  a 
long  while  to  ferry  fifteen, wagons  across  the 
river.  We  girls  rode  our  ponies  onto  the 
ferryboat.  They  behaved  as  if  they  had  been 
used  to  ferryboats  all  their  lives.  As  we 
were  waiting  near  the  landing  a  stranger* 
came,  apologized  for  speaking  to  us,  and 
asked,  "Are  you  going  to  Montana?" 

"No,  sir,  our  destination  is  California,  or 
Oregon ;  we  are  not  fully  decided  which." 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  go  to  Montana;  that  is 
the  place  to  get  rich." 

He  told  of  his  marvelous  success  in  that 

♦This  man  is  mentioned  here  because  of  what  hap- 
pened him  before  he  reached  his  journey's  end. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  63 

country  since  1863;  the  Indians  were  men- 
tioned. He  spoke  of  them  with  such  con- 
tempt; said  he  would  rather  kill  an  Indian 
than  a  good  dog.  Says  he  left  a  wife  and  six 
children  in  Iowa,  the  oldest  boy  about  four- 
teen who  wanted  very  much  to  go  with  his 
father,  but  his  mother  needed  him.  Last 
night  he  came  into  his  father's  camp.  He 
had  run  away  from  home;  says  he  is  going 
to  Montana,  too.  His  father  told  it  as  if  he 
thought  it  smart,  and  a  good  joke.  What 
sorrow  and  anxiety  his  poor  mother  is  no 
doubt  suffering. 

Cash,  Neelie,  Sim  Buford,  Ezra,  Frank, 
Winthrop  and  I  while  waiting  in  Platsmouth 
went  to  a  photographer's  and  had  our  pic- 
tures taken;  tintype,  of  course,  all  in  one 
group,  then  each  one  alone,  then  Sim  and 
Neelie  together  and  Cash  and  I  on  our  po- 
nies. We  only  came  five  miles  after  our  rush 
to  get  an  early  start.  There  are  nine  fami- 
lies and  fifteen  wagons  in  our  train  now. 
Miss  Mary  Gatewood  has  a  pony  for  her 


64  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

especial  use,  .so  there  will  be  four  of  us  to 
ride  horseback.  There  are  enough  wagons 
now  to  make  quite  a  respectable  corral.  I 
did  suppose,  as  we  had  been  resting  so  long, 
we  would  make  a  long  drive.  Feed  for  the 
stock  is  very  good  here,  and  as  it  is  fifteen 
miles  to  the  next  good  camping  place,  where 
there  is  plenty  of  water  and  feed,  it  has  been 
decided  that  we  stay  here  until  to-morrow. 
The  boys  have  put  up  the  inevitable  swing, 
and  we  have  concluded  "that  what  cannot  be 
cured  must  be  endured."  So  we  will  make 
the  best  of  it,  but  certainly  at  this  rate  we 
will  not  reach  our  destination  before  it  is 
cold  weather. 

Thursday,  May  25. 
Oh,  dear ;  here  we  are  yet,  only  five  miles 
from  Platsmouth.  Morrison  and  Harding 
have  lost  two  fine  cows,  half  a  dozen  men 
have  been  hunting  them  all  day,  but  without 
success.  There  is  not  a  doubt  but  that  they 
have  been  stolen.    Our  stock  will  have  to  be 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  65 

herded,  hereafter,  to  guard  against  thieves. 
We  have  spent  the  day  reading,  writing, 
sleeping,  swinging,  and  getting  acquainted 
with  our  neighbors.  The  Morrison  family- 
wagon  is  just  in  front  of  us,  and  the  Ker- 
foot's  just  behind,  so  we  are  to  have  the  most 
pleasant  neighbors  possible  to  camp  next  to 
us.  Mrs.  Morrison  is  almost  as  pretty  as 
Cash,  although  the  mother  of  four  children ; 
she  is  so  bright  and  cheerful,  so  full  of  life 
and  fun,  she  will  be  great  on  a  trip  lik*e  this. 
Mr.  Morrison  has  an  impediment  in  his 
speech,  and  when  he  is  excited — like  he  is 
this  evening,  because  they  cannot  find  their 
cows — he  stutters  dreadfully,  and  will  say, 
"Or  sir,  or  sir,  or  sir,"  until  it  is  hard  to 
keep  from  laughing.  In  ordinary  conversa- 
tion and  when  not  excited,  he  talks  as 
straight  as  any  one.  He  seems  so  fond  and 
proud  of  his  wife  and  children  I  like  him. 
Neelie  and  Sim,  and  Frank  and  I  took  a 
stroll  this  afternoon  in  search  of  wild  flow- 
ers.   They  are  few  and  far  between,  yet  we 


(^  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

enjoyed  the  walk  through  the  woods  in  this 
lovely  springtime  weather. 

A  YANKEE  HOMESTEAD. 

Friday,  May  26. 
We  came  fifteen  miles,  are  camping  on  a 
high  rolling  prairie,  not  a  tree  or  shrub  with- 
in sight ;  we  are  near  a  neat  white  farmhouse. 
Everything  seems  to  be  very  new,  but  does 
not  have  that  "lick  and  a  promise"  appear- 
ance that  so  many  farmhouses  in  Nebraska 
have.  Things  seem  to  be  shipshape,  the 
house  completed  and  nicely  painted,  a  new 
picket-fence,  and  everything  on  the  place — 
barns,  hen-house,  etc.,  all  seem  well  built,  as 
if  the  owners  are  expecting  to  make  a  per- 
manent home.  I  would  prefer  a  home  not 
quite  so  isolated  and  far  away  from  any- 
where. There  do  not  seem  to  be  any  women 
about  the  place,  perhaps  they  are  coming 
when  everything  is  ready  for  their  comfort. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  0; 

Saturday,  May  27. 

We  came  to  Ashland,  on  Salt  River,  only 
a  fifteen-mile  drive,  got  here  soon  after  noon 
and  will  stay  over  Sunday.  Several  of  us 
young  folks  went  fishing  this  afternoon.  I 
have  often  gone  fishing  but  do  not  remember 
ever  catching  anything  of  any  consequence, 
or  having  any  luck,  as  the  boys  say,  so  im- 
agine my  excitement  and  surprise  when  the 
fish  began  to  bite,  and  I  drew  them  out  al- 
most as  fast  as  I  could  get  my  hook  baited. 
Frank  baited  my  hook  and  strung  the  fish  on 
a  forked  willow  switch.  After  I  had  caught 
six  or  eight  they  seem  so  dry  and  miserable 
I  thought  they  would  feel  better  in  the  water, 
so  stuck  the  willow  in  the  bank,  so  that  the 
fish  were  in  shallow  water.  I  caught  another 
fish  and  went  to  put  it  with  the  others,  when 
lo,  they  were  all  gone.  I  could  have  cried, 
and  the  rest  all  laughed — well,  I  shall  try 
again. 

After  securing  the  one  I  had — and  leav- 
ing it  on  dry  ground,  I  threw  in  my  hook, 


68  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

and  almost  immediately  I  had  caught  some- 
thing so  large  and  heavy  I  could  not  draw  it 
out  and  had  to  call  for  assistance.  I  was 
fearful  it  was  a  mud-turtle  or  something  else 
than  a  fish,  but  it  proved  to  be  a  fine,  large 
fish,  larger  than  all  the  small  fish  I  had  lost 
put  together.  When  Frank  had  taken  it 
from  the  hook,  and  strung  it  with  the  little 
one,  I  said,  "Now  I  am  going,  before  this 
fish  gets  away."  All  had  fairly  good  catches, 
but  none  that  compared  with  my  big  fish. 
There  are  about  twenty  corrals  within  sight, 
each  of  from  twelve  to  twenty  wagons.  Ash- 
land is  a  miserable  looking  place,  the  houses 
log-cabins  with  dirt  roofs.  One  store,  where 
dry-goods,  groceries,  and  whiskey  are  sold, 
and  a  blacksmith  shop  are  all  the  business 
houses.  I  do  not  see  anything  that  would 
pass  muster  as  a  hotel. 

Sunday,  May  28. 
All  the  trains  that  camped  near  us  last 
night,  except  one,  have  gone  on  their  way, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  69 

Sunday  though  it  is.  I  am  glad  there  are 
some  people  going  West  who  regard  the 
Sabbath  day.  Some  of  our  young  people 
went  fishing,  and  some  went  rowing  on  the 
river  in  a  canoe  or  small  boat  the  boys  hired. 
It  has  been  a  day  of  sweet  rest,  a  quiet  peace- 
ful Sabbath. 

Monday,  May  29. 

Traveled  all  day,  and  made  a  long  drive 
without  meeting  anyone  or  passing  a  single 
habitation.  We  are  camping  near — what  the 
people  west  of  the  Missouri  River  call — a 
ranch.  There  is  a  long,  low  log-cabin,  with 
dirt  roof,  a  corral,  or  inclosure  for  stock, 
with  very  high  fence,  and  two  or  three  wells 
of  water  in  the  vicinity,  and  that  is  all.  No 
vegetable  garden,  no  fields  of  grain,  nor  any- 
thing to  make  it  look  like  farming.  I  think 
it  is  a  stage-station,  and  the  people  who  oc- 
cupy do  not  expect  to  stay  very  long. 

There  are  three  other  camps  near,  the 
people  of  the  other  trains  are  having  an  emi- 


70  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

grant  ball,  or  dance,  in  a  room  they  have 
hired.  They  sent  a  committee  with  a  polite 
invitation  to  our  camp  for  us  to  join  them, 
which  was  as  politely  declined.  They  are 
strangers,  and  the  conduct  of  some  of  the 
women  is  not  ladylike,  to  say  the  least. 

WE   MEET   A   ERIEND. 

Tuesday,  May  30. 

We  girls  were  riding  in  advance  of  the 
wagons  when  we  saw  a  long  freight  train 
coming.  We  stopped  to  let  our  ponies  graze 
until  they  would  pass.  I  glanced  at  the 
driver  on  the  second  wagon  and  recognized 
an  acquaintance.  *'Why,  girls,  that  is  Kid 
Short,"  I  exclaimed. 

He  looked  at  me  so  funny,  and  began  to 
scramble  down  from  his  high  perch. 

''Why,  Miss  Sallie,  I  could  not  believe  my 
eyes  at  first.  Where  did  you  drop  from?" 
shaking  hands  with  each  of  us. 

"Didn't  drop  from  anywhere;  have  been 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  71 

thirty  days  getting  here  by  the  slow  pace  of 
an  ox-train.  Sim  Buford  and  some  more 
boys  that  you  know  are  with  the  train  you 
see  coming." 

He  soon  said  good-bye  to  us,  spoke  to  a 
man  on  horseback,  who  dismounted,  gave 
him  his  horse  and  climbed  to  the  seat  Mr. 
Short  had  vacated  in  the  front  of  the  freight 
wagon,  drawn  by  eight  mules,  while  Kid 
hurried  off  to  see  the  boys.  He  and  Sim 
have  been  neighbors,  schoolmates,  and  inti- 
mate friends  all  their  lives.  Sim  says  Kid 
is  homesick  and  expects  to  go  home  as  soon 
as  he  can  after  reaching  Omaha.  He  has 
been  freighting  from  Omaha  to  Kearney, 
and  has  been  away  from  home  since  last  Fall. 
We  are  camping  near  another  station,  with 
the  same  trains  we  camped  near  last  night 
not  far  off. 

Wednesday,  May  31. 

We  are  camping  in  the  valley  of  the  Platte. 
We  are  obliged  to  stop  at  the  stage-stations 
to  get  water  for  ourselves  and  the  stock  from 


n  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  wells.  The  water  is  very  good,  clear  and 
cold.  The  same  trains  that  have  been  camp- 
ing near  us  since  we  left  Ashland  are  here 
again  to-night.  Two  of  the  women  called 
upon  us  awhile  ago.  We  were  not  favorably 
impressed.  They  are  loud,  boisterous  and 
unladylike;  they  speak  to  strange  gentlemen 
with  all  the  familiarity  of  old  acquaintances. 
According  to  Thackeray,  they  are  "Becky 
Sharp"  kind  of  women. 

Thursday,  June  i. 
Our  little  village  on  wheels  has  stopped 
near  a  large  two-story  log-house  that  was 
built  in  the  early  fifties  for  a  wayside  tavern ; 
there  are  fifteen  rooms;  there  are  frightful 
stories  told  of  dark  deeds  having  been  com- 
mitted under  that  roof,  of  unwary  travelers 
homeward  bound  from  California  that  never 
reached  home,  but  whether  true  or  not  I  can- 
not say.  The  people  of  the  other  trains  are 
having  a  dance  in  the  large  dining-room  of 
the  old  house. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  73 

Friday,  June  2. 
As  Ezra  and  I  were  riding  in  front  of  the 
train  we  came  to  where  a  man  was  sitting  on 
the  ground  hugging  his  knees,  two  men  were 
standing  near  trying  to  talk  to  him,  seem- 
ingly. As  w.e  rode  up  one  of  them  came  to- 
ward us,  saying,  "That  is  an  Indian,  over 
there."  We  rode  close  to  him,  and  Ezra 
said,  "How ;"  but  he  did  not  even  grunt.  He 
was  very  disappointing  as  the  "Noble  Red 
Man"  we  read  about.  He  wore  an  old 
ragged  federal  suit,  cap  and  all.  There  were 
no  feathers,  beads  nor  blankets.  He  was  not 
black  like  a  negro,  more  of  a  brown,  and  a 
different  shade  from  the  mulatto.  He  was 
ugly  as  sin. 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  PLATTE. 

Saturday,  June  3. 
Here  we  are  on  the  Platte  with  about  two 
hundred  wagons  in  sight.     We  are  now  on 
what  is  known  as  "The  Plains."    My  idea  of 


74  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  plains  has  been  very  erroneous,  for  I 
thought  they  were  one  continuous  level  or 
plain  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  no  hills 
nor  hollows,  but  it  is  nothing  else  than  the 
Platte  River  Valley  with  high  bluffs  on  either 
side.  There  is  some  timber  on  the  banks, 
but  the  timber  of  any  consequence  is  on  the 
islands  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  out  of  reach 
of  the  axe  of  the  emigrant.  This  is  the  junc- 
tion of  the  roads  from  St.  Joe  and  Platts- 
mouth,  and  that  is  why  there  are  so  many 
wagons  here  to-night.  Surely,  among  all 
these  people  there  must  be  a  minister  of  the 
Gospel,  so  perhaps  we  will  have  public  wor- 
ship to-morrow.  Our  trip  grows  more  in- 
teresting, even  Mrs.  Kerfoot  seems  inter- 
ested, as  so  many  people  are  going  West,  it 
must  be  the  thing  to  do. 

Sunday,  June  4. 
We  are  organized  irito  a  company  of  forty- 
five  wagons,  a  captain  and  orderly  sergeant 
have  been   elected,   and  hereafter  we  will 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  75 

travel  by  system.  Mr.  Hardinbrooke  is  our 
captain.  He  has  gone  on  this  trip  before;  he 
is  taking  his  wife  and  Httle  girl  with  him  to 
Montana.  A  Mr.  Davis  is  our  orderly  ser- 
geant. 

We  are  now  coming  into  a  country  in- 
fested with  Indians,  so  it  is  required  by  Gov- 
ernment officials  that  all  emigrants  must  or- 
ganize into  companies  of  from  forty  to  sixty 
wagons,  elect  captains  and  try  to  camp  near 
each  other  for  mutual  protection.  The  grass 
for  stock  is  unlimited.  About  twenty  of  the 
wagons  in  our  train  are  freight  wagons,  be- 
longing to  the  Walker  Brothers,  Joe  and 
Milt.  Joe  has  his  wife  with  him.  Milt  is 
a  bachelor;  their  sister,  Miss  Lyde,  and  a 
younger  brother,  De,  are  with  them.  They 
are  going  to  Montana.  We  have  been  in- 
troduced to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke,  and 
to  the  Walkers  and  their  ladies.  They  are 
pleasant,  intelligent  people,  and  will  add 
much  to  the  pleasure  of  our  party,  no  doubt. 
Frank  and  I  went  horseback  riding  this  after- 


'j^y  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

noon  to  the  station  to  get  some  good  water 
from  the  well.  I  cannot  drink  the  river 
water. 

No  public  worship  to-day,  although  there 
were  so  many  of  us  here. 

Monday,  June  5. 
We  were  awakened  at  an  early  hour  this 
morning  with  a  bugle  call.  Three  com- 
panies were  organized  yesterday ;  there  were 
about  twenty  wagons  that  were  not  asked  to 
join  either  party,  so  they  pulled  up  stakes  and 
left  while  Frank  and  I  were  away.  The 
strange  women  were  of  the  party ;  they  must 
be  some  miles  ahead  by  this  time,  and  I  hope 
they  will  stay  ahead.  When  our  long  train 
of  wagons  are  stretched  out  upon  the  road, 
we  make  a  formidable  looking  outfit  for  the 
Indians  to  attack.  As  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach,  before  us  and  behind  us,  there  are 
wagons,  wagons,  wagons;  some  drawn  by 
oxen,  some  by  mules,  and  some  by  horses. 
All  fall  into  the  slow,  sure  gait  of  the  oxen. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  77 

There  are  whole  freight  trains  drawn  by 
oxen;  there  are  more  ox  teams  than  all 
others. 

After  our  evening  meal,  a  number  of  us 
started  for  a  stroll  along  the  bank  of  the 
river.  Before  we  reached  the  river,  we  were 
met  by  a  perfect  cloud  of  mosquitoes  that 
literally  drove  us  back.  I  never  came  so  near 
being  eaten  up.  There  is  a  strong  breeze 
blowing  toward  the  river,  which  keeps  them 
from  invading  the  camps,  for  which  I  am 
thankful,  otherwise  there  would  be  little  rest 
or  sleep  for  us  to-night.  They  are  the  first 
mosquitoes  we  have  seen  on  the  road. 

Tuesday,  June  6. 
It  is  sweet  to  be  awakened  with  music,  if 
it  is  only  a  bugle.  Our  bugle  certainly  makes 
sweet  music.  The  road  is  becoming  very 
dry  and  dusty,  which  makes  riding  in  the 
wagon  rather  disagreeable  sometimes. 
Mother  and  I  take  turns  driving  the  horses 
and  riding  Dick.     Rather  the  most  of  the 


78  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

time  I  ride  Dick.  One  of  our  boys  goes  out 
with  the  herders  at  night,  so  one  of  them  is 
generally  sleepy,  and  sleeps  during  the  day, 
while  the  other  drives  the  ox-team. 

THE  ORDER  OE  OUR  GOING. 

Wednesday,  June  7. 

There  is  such  a  sameness  in  our  surround- 
ings that  we  seem  to  be  stopping  in  the  same 
place  every  night,  with  the  same  neighbors 
in  front  and  back  of  us,  and  across  the  cor- 
ral. When  we  organized,  Mr.  Ker foot's 
wagons  were  driven  just  in  front  of  ours  and 
Mr.  Morrison's  just  behind  ours,  so  we  have 
the  same  next-door  neighbors,  only  they  have 
changed  places.  We  are  in  the  central  part 
of  the  left-hand  side  of  the  corral.  The 
wagons  occupied  by  the  Walkers  and  Har- 
dinbrookes  are  just  opposite  in  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  corral. 

We  always  stop  in  just  this  way,  if  only 
for  an  hour  at  noon — which  we  do  every  day 
for  lunch,  and  to  water  the  stock. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  79 

When  we  halted  to-day,  the  rain  began  to 
pour,  the  stock  scattered  in  every  direction. 
When  it  stopped  raining,  the  cattle  could  not 
all  be  found  in  time  to  start  again  this  after- 
noon, so  we  only  made  half  a  day's  drive. 
It  has  commenced  raining  again,  and  prom- 
ises a  rainy  night.  It  is  not  very  pleasant 
camping  when  it  rains,  yet  it  would  be  much 
more  unpleasant  if  it  did  not  rain — to  lay  the 
dust,  refresh  the  atmosphere,  and  make  the 
grass  grow. 

When  the  captain  finds  a  place  for  the 
corral,  he  rides  out  where  all  can  see  him, 
and  gives  the  signal,  the  first  and  central 
wagons  leave  the  road;  the  first  to  drive  to 
where  the  captain  stands,  the  other  and  all 
behind  it  cross  over  a  sufficient  distance  to 
form  the  corral  by  the  wagons  stopping,  so 
as  to  form  a  gateway,  for  the  stock  to  pass 
through,  turned  so  that  they  will  not  inter- 
fere with  each  other  when  hitching.  The 
next  wagon  drives  to  position,  with  the  right- 
hand  side  of  cover  almost  touching  the  left- 


8o  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

hand  or  back,  outer  edge  of  the  wagon  in 
front,  with  tongues  of  wagons  turned  out, 
so  that  all  can  be  hitched  to  at  one  time.  In 
this  way  the  entire  corral  is  formed,  meeting 
at  the  back  an  oblong  circle,  forming  a  wall 
or  barrier,  the  cattle  cannot  break  through. 
The  horses  are  caught  and  harnessed  outside 
the  corral,  but  the  cattle  have  to  be  driven 
inside  to  be  yoked. 

Thursday,  June  8. 
It  rained  all  night,  seemingly  without  ces- 
sation; the  wind  did  not  blow,  so  there  was 
no  harm,  but  lots  of  good  done.  I  am  glad 
when  the  rain  comes  in  the  night-time, 
instead  of  day-time.  Where  the  beds  touched 
the  covers  they  were  quite  wet  this  morning. 

Friday,  June  9. 
We  came  through  a  little  town — Valley 
City.    There  is  a  very  pretty  attractive  look- 
ing house  near  the  road.     Cash  and  I  had 
come  on  ahead  of  wagons.    Our  inclination 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  8i 

to  enter  that  pretty  home  was  irresistible,  so 
we  dismounted,  took  off  our  habits,  hitched 
our  ponies,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  A  very 
pleasant  lady  opened  the  door  and  gave  us 
hearty  welcome.  We  told  her  frankly  why 
we  came.  She  laughed,  and  said,  "I  have 
had  callers  before,  with  the  same  excuse,  but 
you  need  not  apologize,  I  am  glad  my  home 
is  attractive  to  strangers." 

The  gentleman  of  the  house  is  postmaster, 
and  has  his  office  in  the  room  across  the  hall 
from  the  parlor.  While  we  were  there  the 
coach  arrived,  and  the  mail  was  brought  in. 
He  did  not  know  we  were  there,  and  called  to 
his  wife  to  "Come  see  this  mail."  We  went 
with  her,  and  oh,  such  a  mess.  They  had 
emptied  the  mail-sack  on  some  papers  that 
had  been  spread  upon  the  floor,  and  such  a 
lot  of  dilapidated  letters  and  papers  I  never 
saw  before.  I  picked  up  a  photograph  of  an 
elderly  lady,  but  we  could  not  find  the  en- 
velope from  which  it  had  escaped. 

Perhaps  some  anxious  son,  away  out  in 


82  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  mineSj  far  from  home  and  friends  and 
mother,  will  look  in  vain  for  mother's  pic- 
tured face,  and  be  so  sadly  disappointed.  I 
am  so  sorry  for  the  boy  that  will  miss  getting 
his  mother's  photograph.  She  looks  like 
such  a  sweet,  motherly  mother.  A  great 
many  of  the  letters  were  past  saving ;  if  the 
owners  had  been  there  they  could  not  have 
deciphered  either  the  address  or  the  written 
contents,  for  they  were  only  a  mass  of  pulp ; 
the  postmaster  said  it  was  ''Because  they  send 
such  old  leaky  mail-bags  on  this  route ;  those 
post-office  folk  seem  to  think  any  old  thing 
will  do  for  the  West,  when  we  ought  to  have 
the  very  best  and  strongest,  because  of  the 
long  distances  they  must  be  carried."  All 
that  could  be,  were  carefully  handled  and 
spread  out  to  dry;  still,  they  would  reach 
their  destination  in  a  very  dilapidated  con- 
dition. 

We  have  made  a  long  drive,  are  within 
four  miles  of  Fort  Kearney.  There  are  a 
great  many  wagons  within  sight  besides  our 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  83 

own  long  train,  whichever  way  we  look  we 
can  see  wagons.  The  road  from  Kansas  City 
comes  into  this  road  not  far  from  Valley 
City,  and  there  are  as  many,  or  more,  com- 
ing that  way  as  the  way  we  came.  People 
leaving  war-stricken  Missouri,  no  doubt.  I 
have  never  seen  a  fort.  I  do  hope  Kearney 
will  come  up  to  my  expectations. 

FORT  KEARNEY. 

Saturday,  June  10. 

I  was  disappointed  in  Fort  Kearney,  as  I 
so  often  am  in  things  I  have  formed  an  idea 
about.  There  are  very  comfortable  quarters 
for  the  soldiers ;  they  have  set  out  trees,  and 
made  it  quite  a  pretty  place,  away  out  here 
in  the  wilderness,  but  there  is  no  stockade, 
or  place  of  defense,  with  mounted  cannon,  as 
I  had  expected. 

Sim  and  I  rode  horseback  through  the  fort 
while  the  wagons  kept  the  road  half  a  mile 
north  of  the  fort.    Only  a  few  of  us  came  by 


84  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  way  of  the  fort.  A  soldier  gave  us  a 
drink  of  water  from  a  well  by  the  wayside. 
He  seemed  a  perfect  gentleman,  but  had  such 
a  sad  expression.  We  were  told  that  these 
soldiers  were  in  the  Confederate  service, 
were  taken  prisoners,  confined  at  Rock 
Island,  and  enlisted  in  the  Government  serv- 
ice to  come  out  here  and  fight  Indians.  They 
are  from  Georgia  and  Alabama. 

Two  families  have  joined  our  train  and 
come  into  corral  on  the  opposite  side,  just 
behind  the  Walkers:  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ken- 
nedy— a  newly-married  couple — and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bower,  with  a  daughter  fourteen 
and  a  son  five.  We  only  came  one  and  a  half 
miles  west  of  the  fort  near  Kearney  City.  I 
do  not  understand  why  we  have  made  such 
a  short  drive,  for  the  boys  say  the  feed  is  not 
good,  it  has  been  eaten  off  so  close. 

Sunday,  June  ii. 
We  were  obliged  to  leave  camp  and  travel 
to-day,  the  first  Sunday  we  have  hitched  up 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  85 

since  we  started.  It  was  a  case  of  necessity, 
as  there  was  not  feed  for  our  large  herds  of 
cattle  and  horses.  We  made  only  a  short 
drive,  just  to  get  good  feed  for  the  stock. 

We  are  camping  near  a  station  that  must 
seem  like  a  military  post,  there  are  so  many 
soldiers.  Several  soldiers  came  to  our  camp 
this  afternoon;  they  confirmed  what  we 
heard  yesterday.  They  are  Confederate  sol- 
diers, they  were  prisoners,  and  their  homes 
are  in  far-away  Georgia  and  Alabama,  and 
they  are  desperately  homesick.  It  is  a  dis- 
tressing sickness.  I  have  been  so  homesick 
that  I  could  not  eat  or  sleep,  and  a  cure  was 
not  effected  until  I  was  at  home  again.  Then 
how  nice  it  did  seem  to  be  home,  and  how 
good  everything  tasted.  I  do  hope  this 
cruel,  homicidal  war  will  soon  be  over,  and 
these  fine-looking  Southern  gentlemen  will  be 
permitted  to  go  to  their  homes  and  loved 
ones,  who,  no  doubt,  are  waiting  and  long- 
ing for  their  return.  My  heart  aches  for 
them. 


86  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 


ELEVEN  GRAVES. 


Monday,  June  12. 

We  stood  by  the  graves  of  eleven  men  that 
were  killed  last  August  by  the  Indians. 
There  was  a  sort  of  bulletin-board  about 
midway  and  at  the  foot  of  the  graves  stating 
the  circumstances  of  the  frightful  tragedy. 
They  were  a  party  of  fourteen,  twelve  men 
and  two  women,  wives  of  two  of  the  men. 
They  were  camped  on  Plum  Creek,  a  short 
distance  from  where  the  graves  are.  They 
were  all  at  breakfast  except  one  man  who  had 
gone  to  the  creek  for  water,  he  hid  in  the 
brush,  or  there  would  have  been  none  to  tell 
the  tale  of  the  massacre. 

There  had  been  no  depredations  committed 
on  this  road  all  Summer,  and  emigrants  had 
become  careless  and  traveled  in  small  par- 
ties. They  did  not  suspect  that  an  Indian 
was  near  until  they  were  surrounded,  and 
the  slaughter  had  commenced.  All  the  men 
were  killed  and  scalped,  and  the  women  taken 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  87 

prisoners.  They  took  what  they  wanted  of 
the  provisions,  burned  the  wagons  and  ran 
off  with  the  horses. 

The  one  man  that  escaped  went  with  all 
haste  to  the  nearest  station  for  help.  The 
soldiers  pursued  the  Indians,  had  a  fight  with 
them  and  rescued  the  women.  One  of  them 
had  seen  her  husband  killed  and  scalped  and 
was  insane  when  rescued,  and  died  at  the 
station.  The  other  woman  was  the  wife  of 
the  man  that  escaped.  They  were  from  St. 
Joe,  Missouri. 

Ezra  met  with  quite  an  accident  to-day; 
he  went  to  sleep  while  driving  the  family 
wagon — he  was  on  guard  last  night — the 
horses  brought  the  wheel  against  a  telegraph 
pole  with  a  sudden  jerk  that  threw  him  out 
of  his  seat  and  down  at  the  horses'  heels — 
a  sudden  awakening — with  a  badly-bruised 
ankle. 

We  are  in  the  worst  place  for  Indians  on 
all  this  road.  The  bluffs  come  within  half  a 
mile  on  our  left,  and  hundreds  of  savages 


88  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

could  hide  in  the  hollows;  the  underbrush 
and  willows  are  dense  along  the  river  banks. 
There  is  an  island,  about  a  mile  in  length, 
that  comes  so  near  this  side  in  many  places 
that  a  man  could  leap  from  bank  to  bank. 
The  island  is  a  thick  wood,  a  place  where 
any  number  of  the  dreaded  savages  could 
hide,  and  shoot  down  the  unwary  traveler 
with  the  guns  and  ammunition  furnished 
them  by  the  United  States  Government. 

How  I  would  like  to  climb  to  the  top  of 
those  bluffs,  and  see  what  is  on  the  other 
side,  but  the  captain  says,  ''Stay  within  sight 
of  camp."    And  I  must  obey. 

A  NARROW  ESCAPE. 

Tuesday,  June  13. 
Cash,  Neelie  and  I  created  quite  a  sensa- 
tion this  morning.  We  waited,  after  the 
train  had  started,  to  mount  our  ponies  as  we 
usually  do.  Cash  and  I  had  mounted,  but 
Neelie  led  her  pony,  and  we  went  down  to  the 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  89 

river  to  water  them,  Neelie  found  some  beau- 
tiful wild  flowers,  and  she  insisted  upon 
gathering  them.  Of  course  we  waited  for 
her.  The  train  was  winding  round  a  bend 
in  the  road,  and  the  last  wagons  would  soon 
be  out  of  sight.  We  insisted  that  she  must 
come.  "The  train  will  be  out  of  sight  in 
five  minutes,  and  we  may  be  cut  off  by  sav- 
ages in  ambush." 

She  did  not  scare  worth  a  cent.  She  led 
her  pony  into  a  little  hollow  to  mount  when 
we  saw  two  men  coming  toward  us  as  fast  as 
they  could  ride.  Cash  rode  at  an  easy  canter 
to  meet  them,  while  I  waited  for  Neelie,  who 
was  deliberately  arranging  her  flowers  so 
that  she  would  not  crush  them. 

"Those  men  are  coming  after  us,  perhaps 
there  are  Indians  around."  She  took  her 
time,  just  the  same. 

When  the  captain  saw  that  the  train  would 
soon  be  out  of  our  sight,  he  went  to  Mr. 
Morrison,  who  was  on  horseback,  and  said, 
"Rid?  quietly  back  and  warn  those  girls  of 


90  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

their  danger,  there  are  Indians  around.  They 
have  been  seen  by  the  guard,  on  the  island, 
and  by  the  herders,  in  the  hollows  of  the 
bluffs  this  morning.  They  would  not  be  safe 
one  minute  after  the  train  is  out  of  sight." 

They  had  kept  it  quiet,  as  they  did  not 
wish  to  cause  unnecessary  alarm,  for  they 
knew  there  was  no  danger,  for  the  Indians 
knew  they  were  being  watched,  and  besides 
we  are  too  many  for  them.  Mr.  Morrison 
started,  but  not  quietly;  he  snatched  off  his 
hat,  whipping  his  horse  with  it,  passed  Mr. 
Ker foot's  wagon  as  fast  as  his  horse  could 
go.  Mr.  Kerfoot  asked,  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter?"    Some  one  said,  "Indians!" 

He  wound  the  lines  round  the  brake- 
handle,  leaped  from  his  high  seat  on  the  front 
of  the  wagon,  grabbed  the  first  horse  in 
reach,  snatched  Mr.  Gatewood's  boy  out  of 
the  saddle,  jumped  on  the  horse  and  came 
tearing  toward  us,  lashing  the  horse  with 
his  long  whip — his  hat  flew  off  soon  after  he 
started,  but  he  did  not  know  it.    He  passed 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  91 

Mr.  Morrison,  and  meeting  Cash,  he  stopped 
long  enough  to  bring  his  whip  over  her 
horse's  haunches  with  all  his  might,  and  sent 
her  flying  toward  the  train.  He  next  met  me 
— for  I  started,  when  I  saw  them  coming, 
and  was  perhaps  a  hundreds  yards  ahead  of 
Neelie — and  stopped  and  said,  '*Miss  Sallie, 
do  you  know  that  we  are  in  the  very  worst 
Indian  country  there  is  on  this  road  ?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply,  but  went  on 
to  Neelie,  who  was  looking  all  about  to  see 
the  Indians.  He  gave  her  pony  a  cut  with 
his  whip,  as  he  had  Cash's,  and  we  went  fly- 
ing over  the  ground,  Neelie' s  merry  laugh- 
ter pealing  forth.  Mr.  Kerfoot  did  not 
speak  to  either  of  us.  Mr.  Morrison  had 
turned  back  with  Cash,  and  scolded  all  the 
way,  she  said  he  stuttered  and  stuttered,  un- 
til she  had  hard  work  to  keep  from  laughing. 
The  captain  had  stopped  the  train,  and  we 
were  greeted  with  loud  cheering  and  hurrahs. 

There  was  considerable  joking  about  our 
being  anxious  for  an    adventure,  and  the 


92  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

young  men  were  profuse  in  their  declarations 
about  what  they  would  have  done  if  we  had 
been  captured  by  the  Indians.  Every  one 
laughed  about  our  "narrow  escape,"  as  they 
called  it,  except  Mr.  Kerfoot;  he  was  pale 
and  trembling.  It  is  a  shame  that  he  should 
have  been  so  unnecessarily  frightened  by  our 
thoughtlessness,  and  I  believe  he  thinks  it 
was  my  fault.  I  wonder  what  he  would  have 
thought  if  I  had  left  Neelie  to  come  alone  ? 

Wednesday,  June  14. 
One  of  the  men  found  the  skull  of  a  human 
being  to-day  while  we  were  stopping  at  noon. 
It  seems  horrible  to  think  of  one's  bones  be- 
ing scattered  about  in  such  manner.  There 
is  a  storm  coming;  a  storm  on  the  plains  is 
something  to  be  dreaded,  especially  a  wind- 
storm. Old  men  who  have  been  freighting 
across  the  plains  for  years,  say  they  have 
seen  wagons  upset  with  three  tons  of  freight 
in  a  wind-storm.    I  am  more  afraid  of  a 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  93 

wind-storm  than  of  Indians.    The  boys  say 
I  am  not  afraid  of  Indians  at  all. 


Thursday,  June  15. 
The  storm  came  with  great  violence  last 
evening ;  we  saw  it  coming  in  time  to  be  pre- 
pared for  it,  so  there  was  no  damage  done. 
The  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and  made 
the  roads  as  hard  and  smooth  as  a  floor,  not 
any  mud.  It  has  been  fine  for  horseback  rid- 
ing, everything  seems  so  fresh  and  clean  and 
pure,  and  not  too  warm.  Mr.  Milt  Walker 
joined  us  about  an  hour  before  camping  time. 
He  seems  a  very  pleasant  gentleman. 

Friday,  June  16. 
We  had  a  storm  last  night,  much  more 
terrific  than  the  night  of  the  14th,  yet  there 
was  no  harm  done,  more  than  to  frighten 
some  of  the  women  and  children.  For  my 
part  I  enjoyed  the  coming  of  the  storm  ex- 
ceedingly. I  never  witnessed  a  storm-scene 
so  sublimely  grand.     Oh,  for  the  pen  of  an 


94  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

artist,  that  I  might  picture  the  majesty  and 
grandeur  of  the  coming  of  that  storm. 

BEAUX. 

Nellie  Bower  has  a  pony,  and  rides  with 
us  sometimes.  She  is  a  very  mature  young 
lady  for  her  age,  and  very  pleasant  company. 
Neelie  and  I  were  riding  together  this  morn- 
ing, while  Cash  and  Nellie  Bower  rode  a 
short  distance  ahead.  We  had  been  on  the 
road  about  half  an  hour  when  Dr.  Fletcher 
and  Milt  Walker  rode  up,  requesting  the 
pleasure  of  our  company,  in  a  very  formal 
manner.  Of  course  we  smilingly  bowed  as- 
sent, and  the  doctor  rode  with  Neelie,  and 
Milt  with  me.  It  is  the  first  time  there  has 
been  any  formality  in  our  pairing  off  while 
riding.  The  boys  sometimes  ride  with  us, 
but  they  come  informally,  we  ride  as  we 
please,  and  stop  and  climb  into  the  wagon 
when  we  please,  without  saying  by  your 
leave. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  95 

I  am  sorry  any  such  formality  has  been 
commenced,  for  when  I  want  to  lope  off,  and 
be  by  myself,  I  want  to  feel  free  to  do  so, 
rather  than  to  be  constrained  to  entertain  a 
beau,  as  we  did  this  morning.  Of  course. 
Dr.  Fletcher  and  Mr.  Walker  have  not  gone 
with  us  thus  informally.  I  presume  we 
succeeded  in  entertaining  them,  for  when  the 
train  turned  out  for  noon,  each  gentleman 
looked  at  his  watch  and  wondered  "If  it 
could  be  possible  it  is  noon?" 

Dr.  Fletcher  is  stepbrother  of  the  Walkers 
— his  mother  and  their  father  being  married. 
He  is  physician  for  our  train ;  an  intelligent, 
handsome  man,  below  medium  in  size.  I 
think  he  must  be  dyspeptic,  for  he  is  always 
finding  fault  with  everything.  He  seems  to 
admire  Neelie  very  much.  We  came  through 
Cottonwood  this  morning.  Stopped  at  noon 
where  the  feed  is  fine,  so  it  has  been  decided 
that  we  stay  here  until  to-morrow.  The  sky 
has  the  appearance  of  another  storm  this 
evening.    We  have  had  a  busy  afternoon. 


96  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Saturday,  June  17. 

There  was  a  brisk  shower  last  evening 
about  dark,  only  lasted  about  half  an  hour, 
there  was  no  wind.  About  midnight  the 
cattle  stampeded,  the  herders  do  not  know 
what  frightened  them,  but  the  first  thing 
thought  of  was  Indians,  yet  there  were  none 
visible.  Some  of  the  cattle  were  not  found 
until  this  afternoon,  so  here  we  will  have  to 
stay  another  night. 

The  bluffs  near  here  are  quite  high  and 
abrupt.  I  climbed  to  the  top  this  morning. 
I  seemed  to  be  away  up  yonder,  when  look- 
ing down  at  our  corral  the  people  looked 
like  midgets.  The  bluffs  are  150  feet  high. 
I  received  a  beautiful  bouquet  of  wild  flow- 
ers this  evening,  but  do  not  know  who  sent 
it.  The  boy  said,  "A  gentleman  sent  it." 
But  he  either  could  not,  or  would  not,  tell 
what  gentleman.  Perhaps  the  one  that  sent 
it  thought  I  would  know  instinctively,  but  I 
am  certainly  in  the  dark. 

Two  gentlemen  took  lunch  at  our  table 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  97 

this  afternoon ;  they  are  father  and  son.  Hill- 
house  met  them  out  on  the  road ;  they  asked 
him,  "Do  you  know  where  we  can  get  some- 
thing to  eat  ?  We  have  had  nothing  since  a 
very  early  breakfast." 

He  brought  them  to  our  wagons,  and  we 
soon  had  a  lunch  ready  for  them.  Their 
name  is  Reade,  the  father's  hair  and  whiskers 
are  as  white  as  snow,  otherwise  he  is  not  an 
aged-looking  man.  They  asked  questions, 
and  when  they  found  we  had  not  fully  de- 
cided upon  our  destination,  they  insisted  that 
Montana  is  the  place  for  us.  They  have  been 
there  and  are  going  again  with  freight.  They 
belong  with  the  Irvine  train.  Each  train 
goes  by  the  name  of  its  captain,  ours  is 
known  as  "The  Hardinbrooke  train."  Then 
there  is  the  McMahan  train,  and  the  Dicker- 
son  train,  that  always  camp  within  sight  of 
us,  for  mutual  protection.  We  have  not  met 
any  of  the  people  from  the  other  trains.  The 
Irvine  train — which  is  very  large — are  some 
miles  ahead  of  us.    The  Reades  were  hunting 


98  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

cattle,  had  been  as  far  back  as  Cottonwood, 
but  without  success.  The  son  had  a  long 
talk  with  the  boys  before  leaving  camp. 
After  he  had  gone,  Hillhouse  came  around 
and  took  a  seat  on  the  wagon-tongue,  near 
where  I  was  engaged  in  the  interesting  occu- 
pation of  the  week's  mending.  I  said,  ''Mr. 
Read  thinks  Montana  the  place  for  us." 

WE  DECIDE  TO  GO  TO   MONTANA. 

"Yes,  so  do  the  Walkers,  and  Mr.  Hardin- 
brooke,  and  Mr.  Morrison,  and  everyone  else 
that  are  going  to  Montana." 

"Well,  why  not  go  there?" 

"I  do  not  like  for  you  and  mother  to  go 
there,  for  it  will  be  rough  living  I  expect, 
but  I  intend  to  go  as  soon  as  you  are  settled 
somewhere  near  Mr.  Kerfoofs  folks." 

"Just  listen  to  the  boy.  Mother  come  here 
for  five  minutes,  do.  What  do  you  think  this 
boy  is  saying?  That  he  is  going  to  Mon- 
tana when  we  are  settled  in  California,  or 
some  other  place." 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  99 

"Well,  if  he  is  going  to  Montana,  we  are 
going,  too.  How  many  women  are  on  their 
way  there  in  these  trains?  I  reckon  it  will 
not  be  any  worse  for  us  than  it  will  be  for 
them." 

"All  right,  if  you  are  both  willing  to  go  to 
Montana,  we  will  change  our  plans  accor- 
dingly.   It  is  not  as  far  as  California." 

And  I  know  he  is  glad.  So  it  was  settled 
then  and  there  that  Montana  will  be  our 
destination. 

Sunday,  June  i8. 

We  started  very  early  this  morning,  as 
soon  as  light,  about  four  o'clock.  I  think 
the  most  of  the  women  were  yet  in  bed.  It 
was  a  glorious  morning,  and  I  did  so  enjoy 
my  early  ride  on  Dick.  We  had  not  been  on 
the  road  very  long  when  Frank  joined  me. 
I  told  him,  "We  had  decided  to  go  to  Mon- 
tana." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  said,  "It  is 
the  place  to  go.  I  do  hope  we  can  persuade 
Uncle  Ezra  to  go  there,  too." 


100  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"I  hope  he  will  decide  to  go  with  us,  for  it 
would  be  hard  to  part  with  all  of  you  now. 
It  would  seem  almost  like  leaving  home 
again." 

We  halted  at  nine  o'clock,  had  breakfast 
at  ten,  started  again  at  twelve.  Stopped 
again  at  four,  and  are  camping  on  Fremont's 
Slough. 

Monday,  June  19. 
We  passed  two  graves  this  morning  that 
have  been  made  within  a  month.  The  first 
a  man  who  shot  himself  accidentally  three 
weeks  ago.  The  other  a  woman,  forty  years 
old,  who  died  one  month  ago  to-day.  As  I 
stood  beside  the  lonely  graves,  I  thought  of 
the  tears  that  had  been  shed,  the  prayers  that 
had  been  uttered,  the  desolation  of  heart  that 
had  been  endured  by  those  who  had  been 
obliged  to  go  on  and  leave  their  loved  ones 
here  in  this  wilderness.  How  my  heart 
ached  for  them.  My  heart  went  out  in 
thanksgiving  and  praise  to  our  Heavenly 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  loi 

Father  that  there  has  been  no  serious  sick- 
ness in  all  these  trains  with  so  many  people. 
It  is  marvelous. 

We  are  camped  on  the  banks  of  the  South 
Platte.  The  men  have  driven  the  stock 
across  to  an  island.  I  do  not  know  if  it  is 
because  they  are  afraid  of  the  Indians  stam- 
peding them,  or  that  the  grass  is  better.  If 
there  should  be  danger,  I  presume  they 
would  not  tell  us.  There  is  a  town  of  prairie 
dogs  near ;  several  of  us  went  to  make  them 
a  visit,  but  the  boys  had  been  there  with  their 
guns  shooting  at  the  little  things,  and  fright- 
ened them  so  they  would  not  come  out,  al- 
though we  waited  in  silence  until  almost 
dark.  I  shall  make  another  effort  to  see 
them  very  early  in  the  morning  before  the 
boys  are  awake.  I  have  heard  they  are  early 
risers,  that  they  come  out  to  greet  the  rising 
sun.  We  met  an  acquaintance  to-day — Will 
Musgrove — he  is  on  his  way  to  Central  City, 
Colorado.  He  is  night  herder  for  a  freight 
train.    The  most  casual  acquaintance  seems 


102  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

like  an  especial  friend,  when  we  meet,  away 
out  here,  so  far  from  home,  or  anywhere  else. 

PRAIRIE  DOGS. 

Tuesday,  June  20. 
Winthrop  was  quite  sick  last  night  with 
cramp  colic.  I  was  up  with  him  the  latter 
part  of  the  night,  so  was  dressed  and  ready 
for  my  visit  to  Prairie  Dog  Town  at  an  early 
hour.  The  little  fellows  were  up,  standing  at 
their  doors,  and  greeted  me  with  a  welcom- 
ing bark.  Some  of  them  turned  and  darted 
away,  no  doubt  to  tell  others  we  had  come, 
for  they  immediately  came  back  to  peep  out 
at  us  and  bark  and  chatter,  as  if  carrying  on 
a  lively  discussion.  They  seemed  perfectly 
fearless  as  long  as  we  kept  our  distance,  but 
if  we  tried  to  get  a  nearer  view,  they  whisked 
away,  and  were  gone  in  an  instant ;  then  they 
would  send  out  two  or  three  scouts,  and  if 
we  had  gone  far  enough  away,  they  would 
come  again  to  their  doors.    They  have  been 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  103 

well  described  by  many  writers.  Cash  and 
Frank  joined  me,  while  at  Prairie  Dog 
Town. 

I  rode  horseback  this  morning,  and  Milt 
Walker  rode  with  me.  Winthrop  is  about 
well  this  evening.  His  was  the  first  sickness 
we  have  had.  Will  Musgrove  came  up  with 
us  while  we  were  halted  for  noon — his  train 
is  a  short  distance  behind — he  rode  with  me 
in  the  wagon  all  afternoon,  and  drove  the 
horses,  and  mother  rode  Dick.  We  had  a 
long  talk  about  friends  at  home.  He  took 
dinner  with  us,  and  then  said  good-bye,  and 
we  will  see  him  no  more,  for  we  will  travel 
faster  than  the  freight  train. 

Wednesday,  June  21. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morrison  are  large-hearted, 
cheerful  people,  who  seem  to  be  always  happy 
and  trying  to  make  others  happy.  Mrs.  Mor- 
rison learned  that  Miss  Lyde  Walker  has  her 
guitar,  and  sings  beautifully,  so  she  invited 
her  to  come  to  their  tent  and  help  to  enter- 


104  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

tain  a  few  friends.  It  was  a  very  pleasant 
diversion.  While  Lyde  was  singing,  the 
men  and  boys  from  all  over  the  corral  came 
near  to  listen.  .  When  she  sang  'The  Cottage 
by  the  Sea,"  both  inside  and  outside  the  tent, 
there  was  great  applause  that  terminated  in 
an  encore.  But  no,  she  would  not  sing  any 
more;  she  murmured  something  about  the 
rabble,  and  laid  her  guitar  away. 

If  I  was  gifted  with  a  talent,  with  which  I 
could  give  pleasure  to  people,  I  would  cer- 
tainly do  so  whenever  opportunity  was  af- 
forded. I  would  be  glad  to  promote  the 
happiness,  and  dispel  as  much  sorrow  as  pos- 
sible, in  this  sorrowful  world. 

Thursday,  June  22. 
We  came  through  a  place  called  Star 
Ranch,  or  Old  California  Crossing.  We  are 
camped  twelve  miles  below  Julesburgh.  Mr. 
Reade  called  this  evening;  we  told  him  we 
had  decided  to  go  to  Montana.  He  seemed 
as  pleased  as  though  personally  interested. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  105 

Says  the  Irvine  train  is  only  half  a  mile  ahead 
to-night,  and  invited  us  to  go  v^ith  him  to 
call  upon  the  young  ladies.  We,  w^ith  one 
accord,  asked  to  be  excused.  We  all  felt 
that  we  are  not  in  calling  costume. 

Friday,  June  2^. 

We  are  camping  in  Colorado.  Came 
through  Julesburgh,  a  rather  insignificant- 
looking  place,  to  have  such  notoriety  as  it 
has  in  the  newspapers.  We  met  a  company 
of  soldiers  with  about  twenty  Indian  prison- 
ers. They  were  captured  at  Fort  Laramie, 
and  they  are  taking. them  to  Fort  Kearney. 
The  soldiers  had  a  fight  with  about  one  thou- 
sand Indians  three  weeks  ago.  There  were 
no  soldiers  killed,  though  a  number  were 
seriously  wounded,  and  they  lost  a  good 
many  horses.  There  were  squaws  and 
papooses  with  the  prisoners,  though  not  cap- 
tives. 

The  Indians  in  the  fight  were  Sioux  and 
Cheyennes ;  they  all  look  alike  to  me.     They 


io6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

were  the  most  wretched-looking  human  crea- 
tures I  ever  saw,  nothing  majestic,  dignified, 
or  noble-looking  about  any  of  the  Indians  I 
have  seen.  An  ex-Confederate  soldier  gave 
me  my  information  about  the  fight.  There 
are  a  great  many  Southern  soldiers  on  this 
route.  We  passed  another  newly-made 
grave  this  afternoon.  Mr.  Reade  called  this 
evening. 

Saturday,  June  24. 

I  was  caught  in  a  hail-storm  this  morn- 
ing. I  was  half  a  mile  from  the  wagons,  on 
a  high  bluff,  looking  over  the  river,  watching 
the  storm  coming.  I  did  not  realize  that  it 
was  so  near,  but  all  at  once  it  came  down 
pell-mell  and  gave  me  some  pretty  hard 
knocks.  Dick  seemed  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the 
train,  and  I  let  him  go.  We  seemed  to  fly 
over  the  ground  through  the  storm,  but  we 
had  the  benefit  of  it  all,  for  it  stopped  just 
when  we  reached  the  wagons. 

I  unsaddled  Dick  and  turned  him  out, 
while  I  took  passage  in  the  wagon,  changed 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  107 

my  wet  clothes  for  dry  ones  and  wrapped  in 
a  shawl  to  keep  from  taking  cold.  When  the 
teams  were  being  hitched  up  at  noon,  Hill- 
house  said  to  me,  ''Dick  has  not  had  water; 
you  would  better  ride  to  the  river  and  give 
him  a  drink." 

The  river  was  half  a  mile  from  the  road, 
but  in  sight  all  the  way.  Dick  cantered  to 
the  watering  place,  drank  all  he  wanted,  and 
we  started  back  when  I  saw  someone  coming 
toward  me.  I  will  not  say  who  it  was  be- 
cause of  what  followed. 

'*I  thought  you  were  getting  too  far  be- 
hind for  safety." 

"Oh,  there  isn't  any  danger ;  you  need  not 
bother  about  me." 

"Bother?  Oh,  no."  And  then  came  a 
declaration  that  about  took  my  breath.  At 
first  I  felt  that  I  would  like  to  box  the  pre- 
sumptuous boy's  ears.  Then  I  wanted  so 
much  to  laugh.  But  when  I  saw  how  des- 
perately in  earnest  he  was  I  thought,  per- 
haps, I  have  been  to  blame  for  not  seeing 


io8  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

how  things  were  tending.  I  was  perfectly 
amazed;  such  a  thought  never  occurred  to 
me. 

Our  ride  back  to  the  train  was  rather  em- 
barrassing to  me.  I  tried  to  make  him  see 
the  comicality  of  the  whole  business,  but  he 
would  not  see  it.  We  passed  a  station  where 
the  Indians  had  burned  all  that  would  burn, 
but  these  adobe,  dirt-roof  houses,  or  cabins 
rather,  would  not  make  much  of  a  blaze  I 
imagine.  Inside  one  of  the  cabins — or  what 
was  left  of  it — were  two  dead  Indians  that 
had  been  killed  in  the  fray. 

Sunday,  June  25. 
Mr.  Reade  came  with  six  young  ladies  to 
call  upon  us  this  morning,  also  one  gentle- 
man from  the  Irvine  train.  They  had  gone 
down  into  their  trunks  and  were  dressed  in 
civilization  costumes.  They  were  Misses 
Nannie  and  Maggie  Irvine — sisters — their 
brother,  Tom  Irvine,  Miss  Mollie  Irvine,  a 
cousin — Miss  Forbes,  and  two  other  young 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  109 

ladies,  whose  names  I  have  forgotten.  They 
are  all  very  pleasant,  intelligent  young 
people. 

The  trains  are  keeping  as  close  together  as 
possible,  for  protection,  for  the  Indians  are 
on  the  warpath.  Every  station  and  ranch- 
building  that  we  are  passing  these  days  have 
been  destroyed. 

PREACHING  SERVICES. 

We  have  had  a  preaching  service  this 
afternoon.  Rev.  Mr.  Austin,  of  the  Metho- 
dist-Episcopal Church  South — the  church 
that  I  am  a  member  of — was  the  preacher. 
The  services  were  well  attended,  and  the  ser- 
mon was  fine.  He  compared  our  situation 
with  that  of  ''The  Children  of  Israel"  in  the 
wilderness.  He  spoke  of  God's  care  for 
them,  and  that  He  careth  for  us,  spoke  in  an 
earnest  manner  of  our  dependence  upon  God, 
and  our  inability  to  take  care  of  ourselves,  or 
to  accomplish  anything  without  God's  help 
and  co-operation,  and  of  the  necessity  of 


no  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

earnest  prayer  and  faith  in  all  circumstances 
of  life,  and  always  to  remember  that  "The 
Everlasting  Arms  are  underneath." 

When  the  people  were  gathered,  at  the 
call  of  the  bugle,  some  sat  on  chairs  in  the 
shade  of  wagons,  some  under  umbrellas, 
some  in  carriages  and  light  wagons.  Mother 
and  I  stood  near  a  carriage,  before  the  serv- 
ice commenced,  when  a  lady  invited  us  to 
sit  with  her  and  her  children — a  little  boy  of 
five  and  a  girl  of  three.  We  accepted  and 
were  introduced  to  Mrs.  Yager,  wife  of  the 
physician  for  the  Chilicothe  train,  Mr.  Dick- 
erson  captain.  The  services  were  held  at 
their  camp.  Mrs.  Yager  is  a  Southern 
Methodist,  too.  Rev.  Austin  is  a  member  of 
the  Chilicothe  train.  I  am  glad  there  is  at 
least  one  preacher  among  us. 

MUSIC  IN  CAMP. 

Monday,  June  26. 
Mr.   and    Mrs.    May — a    newly-married 
couple  that  came  into  our  train  at  the  junc- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  in 

tion  of  the  roads — are  both  musicians;  sev- 
eral of  our  young  men  have  fine  voices,  and 
with  Lyde's  guitar,  and  Mr.  May's  vioHn  we 
have  had  an  enjoyable  musicale  away  out 
here  in  the  wilderness.  If  the  Indians  had 
been  within  listening  distance  it  would  be  in- 
teresting to  know  what  impression  the  music 
made  upon  their  minds,  as  "Music  hath 
charms,  etc."  The  music  this  evening  has 
been  the  happiest  feature  of  the  day,  for  I 
have  had  to  ride  in  the  wagon  all  day.  One 
of  the  big  horses  went  lame  this  morning,  so 
Dick  was  put  in  harness  and  the  dear  little 
fellow  has  worked  all  day.  He  looks  funny 
beside  the  big  horse;  the  harness  had  to  be 
taken  up  to  the  last  holes  to  make  it  fit  him. 
I  would  not  enjoy  taking  this  trip  without  a 
saddle-horse  or  pony  to  ride.  I  must  be 
more  generous  hereafter  and  let  Lyde  and 
Mrs.  Kennedy  and  other  ladies  that  have  no 
horse  ride  Dick  oftener  than  I  have  been  do- 
ing.   I  have  not  fully  realized  how  very  tire- 


112  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

some  it  is  to  ride  in  the  wagon  all  day,  and 
day  after  day. 

I  have  always  supposed  that  good  water 
would  be  very  scarce  on  this  road;  we  have 
not  found  it  so,  there  are  always  from  one 
to  three  wells  at  the  stage-stations,  with  ex- 
cellent water,  free  for  all — thanks  to  Uncle 
Sam  for  this  provision  for  our  welfare.  In 
some  places  wood  is  very  scarce  and  must 
be  hauled  long  distances;  we  cooked  dinner 
this  evening  with  wood  hauled  from  near 
Cottonwood.  Cedar  logs  are  fastened  under 
the  wagons,  lengthwise  between  the  wheels ; 
as  there  are  no  stumps  or  rocks  in  the  road 
they  carry  all  right,  when  there  is  no  wood 
to  pick  up  the  log  is  taken  down,  a  piece  cut 
off  and  split  up  for  use.  It  is  surprising  with 
what  a  little  bit  of  wood  one  can  cook  a  meal 
on  these  sheet-iron  stoves. 

Tuesday,  June  27. 
Among  the  men  who  are  driving  for  the 
Walkers  is  an  eccentric  old  bachelor  named 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  113 

Fogy;  he  is  very  bashful  when  in  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies.  I  have  often  heard  it  said 
that  men  cannot  drive  oxen  without  swear- 
ing; it  is  a  mistake.  I  have  seen  a  whole  lot 
of  ox-driving  on  this  trip,  and  to-day  I  heard 
the  first  profane  oath  since  we  left  the  Mis- 
souri River.  It  would  have  been  funny  if  it 
had  not  been  shocking.  We  have  traveled 
all  day  where  the  bluffs  come  close  to  the 
river,  the  road  is  very  uneven,  little  hills  and 
hollows,  in  some  of  the  hollows  there  is  mud. 
Mr.  Fogy  admires  Neelie  very  much  (at  a 
distance,  of  course),  we  often  hear  the  ex- 
travagant compliments  he  pays  her,  and  his 
regrets  about  that  troublesome  "if." 

Soon  after  the  start  this  morning,  Neelie 
and  I  rode  to  the  front  to  escape  the  dust  and 
sand  that  were  flying;  as  we  came  near  the 
front  wagon  we  were  startled  by  hearing  a 
terrific  oath.  The  wagon  had  stuck  in  the 
mud  and  would,  of  course,  stop  the  entire 
train.  Mr.  Fogy  was  the  driver.  He  was 
greatly  embarrassed  and  distressed  when  he 


114  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD, 

knew  we  had  heard  him  swear,  and  stopped 
stock  still  and  let  the  wheels  sink  into  the 
mud  so  that  they  had  to  double  teams  to  get 
them  out.  He  afterward  told  some  of  the 
boys  he  was  effectually  cured  of  swearing; 
that  he  never  felt  so  cheap  in  his  life,  and  if 
he  is  ever  tempted  to  swear  he  knows  the 
remembrance  of  that  moment  will  check  him. 
We  had  a  refreshing  shower  about  two 
o'clock,  that  laid  the  dust,  cooled  the  air,  and 
made  everything  sweet  and  fresh.  We  hoped 
and  expected  to  have  a  pleasant  afternoon, 
after  the  rain  there  was  a  calm — not  a  little 
tiny  breeze  or  breath  of  air — it  was  just  suf- 
focating, and  then  came  a  cloud  of  buffalo- 
gnats  that  almost  devoured  us,  so  that  horse- 
back riding  was  an  impossibility. 

Wednesday,  June  28. 
Cash  is  on  the  sick-list  to-day.    I  trust  it 
will  not  prove  to  be  anything  serious.     I 
greatly  fear  Mr.  Ker foot's  family  are  des- 
tined to  have  considerable  sickness  before 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  115 

this  trip  is  ended.  They  have  such  a  same- 
ness of  diet,  and  it  is  so  poorly  cooked  I  fear 
the  result. 

When  we  started  on  this  trip  not  one 
member  of  the  family  had  ever  prepared  an 
entire  meal ;  they  had  always  had  a  houseful 
of  servants  to  cook  and  do  everything  else 
for  them.  The  first  two  or  three  weeks  Nee- 
lie  and  her  mother  tried  to  learn  to  cook,  and 
mother  and  I  tried  to  teach  them.  It  takes 
great  patience  to  learn  to  bake  in  stoves  out 
of  doors;  they  heat  red-hot  so  quickly,  and 
cool  just  as  suddenly;  they  must  have  care- 
ful attention  all  the  time. 

They  made  several  failures  baking  light 
bread,  and,  giving  it  up  in  disgust,  settled 
down  to  biscuit,  that  are  hard  as  brick-bats, 
when  cold,  bacon,  coffee,  and  beans — when 
we  stop  long  enough  to  cook  them.  They 
were  well  supplied  with  fruit  at  first;  the 
canned  fruit  was  so  easily  served  that  it  is 
all  gone.  They  have  dried  fruit,  but  think 
it  too  much  trouble  to  cook.    Neelie  does  the 


Ii6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

cooking  with  some  assistance  from  her  fa- 
ther, such  as  getting  wood,  making  fires, 
bringing  water,  grinding  the  coffee,  etc. 
Henrietta  and  Emma — the  next  younger 
sisters — wash  the  dishes.  It  is  no  small  un- 
dertaking to  cook  for  a  family  of  twelve;  I 
do  not  blame  Neelie  for  getting  tired,  she 
says  they  have  such  appetites  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  tempt  them  with  extras. 

Neelie  is  the  dearest,  sweetest,  most  unsel- 
fish daughter  and  sister;  it  seems  they  all 
depend  upon  her,  the  children  go  to  her  in 
their  troubles  and  perplexities,  her  father  and 
mother  rely  upon  her,  and  she  is  always 
ready  to  do  what  she  can  for  any  and  every- 
body that  needs  her  help ;  she  is  unselfishness 
personified. 

The  wind  blew  so  all  afternoon  that  we 
could  not  ride  horseback.  The  roads  are 
smooth  and  hard  as  asphalt,  result  of  rain 
yesterday  and  the  wind  to-day.  Dr.  Fletcher 
who  was  called  to  prescribe  for  Cash  says 
she  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  117 

THE  MOUNTAINS  IN  SIGHT. 

Thursday,  June  29. 

We  could  see  the  mountains,  as  the  sun 
was  sinking  behind  them ;  they  were  plainly 
visible  though  one  hundred  miles  away.  It 
does  not  seem  possible  they  are  so  far  away. 
Long's  Peak  and  others  near  it  are  the  points 
in  sight.  They  look  very  much  as  I  have 
imagined  mountains  would  appear  in  the 
distance. 

Mr.  Walker  is  my  informant  as  to  names 
of  places,  distances,  etc.  He  has  been  over 
the  road  and  seems  to  know  all  about  it.  We 
usually  ride  some  hours  in  company  each 
day,  so  I  have  fine  opportunities  for  asking 
questions,  and  he  seems  a  willing  instructor. 
He  never  broaches  the  sentimental,  has  never 
paid  me  a  compliment  in  words  I  am  glad  to 
say,  for  since  my  late  experience  I  would 
hesitate  to  ride  with  him  were  he  not  the  sen- 
sible man  that  he  is.  We  crossed  a  small 
stream  to-day  that  was  bridged  and  had  to 


ii8  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

pay  fifty  cents  toll  for  each  wagon ;  the  ford 
had  been  spoiled,  or  we  could  have  crossed 
without  the  bridge. 

Friday,  June  30. 

We  stopped  at  noon  where  the  road  forks, 
the  left-hand  road  goes  to  Denver.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  May,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kirkland  and 
children  took  the  left-hand  road,  as  they  are 
going  to  Denver.  Mr.  May's  brother, 
George,  goes  on  to  Montana  on  horseback; 
he  wull  leave  us  in  the  morning  and  depend 
upon  reaching  stations,  or  emigrant  camps, 
for  food  and  shelter  nights.  I  do  hope  the 
Indians  will  not  get  his  scalp. 

We  have  been  feasting  on  antelope,  the 
first  that  any  of  our  party  have  killed.  It 
is  fine,  much  better  than  venison — but  then  I 
never  ate  venison  when  I  was  so  hungry  for 
fresh  meat — we  do  get  so  tired  of  cured 
meat.  We  see  no  game  except  antelope  and 
jack  rabbits.     The  great  herds  of  bufTalo — 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  119 

that  we  read  about — have  not  been  in  sight 
as  yet. 

Mr.  Morrison's  four-horse  team  ran  away 
this  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Morrison  and  the 
children  in  the  wagon.  I  had  been  riding 
with  them  since  noon,  had  just  left  the 
wagon.  When  all  the  horse  teams  were 
driven  out  of  ranks  and  down  to  the  river 
for  water,  the  lead  horses  took  fright  at  an 
ant-hill — the  ant-hills  are  big  as  a  chicken- 
house — and  started  to  run.  There  were  sev- 
eral men  near  who  caught  and  stopped  them 
just  as  the  forewheel  went  over  the  bank  of 
the  river.  Mr.  Harding  was  driving;  he 
tried  to  rein  them  away  from  the  river  but 
they  were  right  on  the  verge  when  stopped, 
one  moment  more  and  there  would  have  been 
a  serious  accident.  Mrs.  Morrison  did  not 
scream  nor  try  to  jump  out,  neither  did  she 
allow  the  children  to,  but  sat  quite  still  and 
acted  like  the  sensible  woman  that  she  is. 

We  are  only  six  miles  below  the  crossing 
of  the  South  Platte. 


120  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Saturday,  July  i. 
We  were  awakened  this  morning  at  the 
first  peep  of  dawn  by  the  sound  of  the  bugle 
call.  Soon  the  teams  were  hitched,  corral 
broken,  and  we  were  journeying  to  the  cross- 
ing of  the  river,  where  we  were  driven  into 
corral  again.  While  we  were  getting  break- 
fast the  men  were  raising  the  wagon-beds 
and  fixing  them  upon  blocks  as  high  as  the 
wheels,  and  binding  them  tight  with  ropes  to 
the  coupling  poles  and  lower  parts  of  the 
wagons,  ready  to  ford  the  river.  They  had 
a  top-heavy  appearance,  as  if  the  least  jolt 
would  topple  them  over.  Some  of  the 
women  were  very  nervous  about  riding  in 
wagons  set  up  on  stilts,  and  felt  quite  certain 
somebody  would  be  drowned.  Wagons  were 
crossing  when  we  drove  into  corral,  of 
course  we  had  to  wait  our  turn — first  come, 
first  served.  Some  enterprising  young  men 
have  the  blocks  and  ropes  there  to  rent,  at  a 
very  reasonable  hire,  too,   for  they  might 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  121 

have  asked  what  they  would^  we  had  no 
choice  but  to  use  them. 

The  river  is  half  a  mile  or  more  wide, 
about  half  way  over  there  is  a  large  freight 
wagon  stuck  in  the  quicksand,  just  below  the 
track  of  the  wagons ;  it  has  been  there  since 
yesterday;  it  is  slowly,  slowly  sinking,  and 
cannot  be  gotten  out.  It  has  been  unloaded 
and  left  to  its  fate,  it  seems  a  signal  of  dis- 
tress to  warn  drivers  to  keep  farther  up  the 
river  and  avoid  the  quicksands. 

I  drove  the  horse  team  over,  and  Hillhouse 
rode  Dick  and  directed  our  going.  The 
wagons  of  our  train  were  all  over  and  in  cor- 
ral by  two  o'clock  without  accident  or  mis- 
hap. Wagons  have  been  crossing  all  day, 
and  this  evening  we  are  a  considerable  town 
of  tents  and  wagons ;  more  than  two  hundred 
wagons  within  sight  on  the  north  side  of  the 
South  Platte,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Fre- 
mont's Orchard — though  why  it  is  called  an 
orchard  I  cannot  understand,  for  there  is  cer- 
tainly no  fruit,  neither  promise  of  fruit  about 


122  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

it,  mostly  quaking-asp  and  Cottonwood,  I 
think.  Our  corral  is  just  to  the  left  of  where 
the  wagons  drive  out,  and  near  the  bank  of 
the  river.  Hillhouse  has  crossed  the  river 
on  Dick  at  least  twenty  times  to-day;  he 
seemed  to  know  just  how  to  help  and  has 
been  in  constant  demand,  so  he  and  Dick  are 
thoroughly  tired  out  to-night.  We  will  stay 
here  over  Sunday,  and  hope  to  have  religious 
services  to-morrow  as  there  are  several 
preachers  with  us.  I  have  not  met  any  of 
them  except  Brother  Austin  who  preached 
for  us  last  Sunday. 

Cash  is  much  better,  able  to  be  out,  though 
quite  pale  and  weak.  The  mountains  loom- 
ing up  in  the  distance  seem  to  be  the  goal  to 
which  we  are  tending,  and  now  we  seem  to 
make  some  progress  every  day  for  we  are 
certainly  nearer  than  when  we  first  saw  them 
on  the  twenty-ninth  of  June.  Before  they 
came  in  sight  we  did  not  seem  to  make  any 
progress,  but  traveled  day  after  day,  and 
seemed  to  camp  at  night  always  in  the  same 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  123 

place ;  there  was  such  a  sameness  in  the  land- 
scape. In  the  early  morning  when  the  sun 
shines  upon  the  snow-capped  mountains  the 
effect  is  thrilling;  they  seem  to  be  the  great 
altars  of  earth  raised  up  to  Heaven  for  the 
morning  sacrifice. 

A  TOWN  OF  TENTS  AND  WAGONS. 

Sunday,  July  2. 

It  is  wonderful,  wonderful  to  behold  how 
this  town  of  tents  and  wagons  has  sprung  up 
since  yesterday  morning  when  there  was  no 
sign  of  life  on  this  north  bank  of  the  South 
Platte,  and  now  there  are  more  than  one 
thousand  men,  women  and  children,  and  I 
cannot  guess  how  many  wagons  and  tents. 
The  wagons  have  been  crossing  all  day,  the 
last  one  has  just  been  driven  into  corral  at 
sunset. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  bank  of  the  river 
watching  with  anxiety  the  wagons  as  they 
ploughed  through  the  deep  waters — for  the 


124  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

ford  has  washed  out  and  the  wagons  go  in 
much  deeper  than  when  we  crossed  yester- 
day— when  a  gentleman  came  and  introduced 
himself  as  Dr.  Howard,  physician  for  the 
McMahan  train.  He  said,  "Miss  Raymond, 
I  have  known  you  by  sight  since  we  camped 
at  Kearney,  and  now  as  I  have  an  errand  for 
an  excuse  I  hope  to  become  better  ac- 
quainted." 

I  could  not  imagine  what  his  errand  could 
be,  for  he  talked  of  other  matters  for  fifteen 
minutes  or  more,  then  said,  "Miss  Raymond, 
I  have  been  directed  to  your  wagons  for  the 
best  and  most  wholesome  bread  that  is  baked 
on  this  road.  Captain  McMahan's  nephew, 
Robert  Southerland,  has  been  very  sick  but 
is  now  convalescing  and  needs  nutritious  and 
wholesome  food  to  help  him  gain  strength. 
I  came  to  ask  you  for  a  piece  of  good  bread." 

Of  course  I  gave  him  a  loaf,  and  said, 
"Come  get  more  when  that  is  gone."  He 
thanked  me  profusely. 

There  has  been  no  serious  accident  nor 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  125 

any  lives  lost,  although  thousands  of  cattle, 
hundreds  of  horses,  and  more  than  a  thou- 
sand human  beings  have  crossed  the  river 
since  yesterday  morning. 

Oh,  for  the  pen  of  a  Dickens  to  describe 
this  wonderful  scene,  which  no  one  ever  has 
or  ever  will  see  again,  just  as  it  is.  The 
moon  is  at  the  full  and  shining  brightly  as 
there  is  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  the  camp-fires 
do  not  glow  as  they  do  dark  nights.  The 
men  are  building  a  great  bonfire  in  the  middle 
of  our  extemporaneous  town. 

WE  WORSHIP  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

There  is  to  be  a  praise  and  thanksgiving 
service  for  our  safe  conduct  through  the  deep 
waters  and  our  protection  from  the  Indians. 
The  people  are  beginning  to  gather  near  the 
bonfire  and  I  must  go,  too. 

Later. 

Our  service  is  over ;  it  was  grand,  the  sing- 
ing of  the  old  familiar  hymns  by  so  many 


126  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD, 

voices  spontaneously  was  inspiring,  the  talks 
by  five  or  six  ministers  of  different  denomi- 
nations v^ere  full  of  love  for  the  Master,  and 
brotherly  love  for  every  one. 

An  invitation  was  then  given  for  all  who 
had  enlisted  in  the  service  of  the  Master  to 
come  forward  and  shake  hands  with  the 
preachers,  thus  testifying  for  Christ.  Nee- 
lie  was  the  first  one  in  that  long  procession 
to  give  her  hand.  Precious  girl,  she  is  al- 
ways first  in  every  good  work.  I  noticed 
Dr.  Howard  in  line^  and  I  also  noticed  that 
Mr.  Reade  and  Milt  Walker  were  not  among 
the  soldiers  of  the  cross. 

The  feed  for  stock  is  abundant,  if  it  were 
not  so,  all  these  cattle  and  horses  could  not 
find  pasture. 

Monday,  July  3. 

The  scenes  in  this  great  expanse  of  low, 

level  land  on  the  north  side  of  the  Platte  in 

the  early  hours  of  this  morning  is  hard  to 

describe.    Corrals  and  camps  here,  there  and 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  127 

everywhere.  Cattle  and  horses  being  driven 
into  corrals  to  be  harnessed  and  yoked,  men 
and  women  cooking  by  camp-fires  and  on 
stoves,  everybody  seemed  to  be  in  a  great 
hurry,  all  was  animation  and  life,  men  riding 
after  horses,  oxen  and  mules;  yelling,  hal- 
looing and  calling,  but  not  a  profane  oath  did 
I  hear.  Among  so  many  children,  we  rarely 
ever  hear  a  child  cry,  and  never  hear  a 
woman  scold. 

Our  train  was  the  third  to  break  camp  and 
file  into  the  road  this  morning.  The  place 
that  knew  us  yesterday  will  know  us  no  more 
forever.  Our  town  of  tents  and  wagons  that 
was  teeming  with  life  this  morning  is  this 
evening  deserted,  silent,  and  uninhabited. 
We  have  folded  our  tents  and  driven  or  rode 
away.  I  did  not  mount  immediately,  but 
led  Dick  by  the  bridle,  and  gathered  a  mag- 
nificent bouquet  of  the  most  beautiful  wild 
flowers.  I  had  loitered  by  the  way  and  did 
not  notice  that  I  was  getting  far  behind  our 
train,  when  I  looked  up  and  saw  only  stran- 


128  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

gers  in  the  train  that  was  passing.  I  thought 
it  was  time  to  mount,  threw  the  bridle  over 
Dick's  head,  while  arranging  my  flowers,  so 
that  I  would  not  crush  them.  I  saw  a  gentle- 
man in  the  train  throw  down  his  whip  and 
start  toward  me,  as  if  to  assist  me  in  mount- 
ing. I  waited  until  he  was  quite  near,  then 
placing  a  hand  on  either  horn  I  sprang  lightly 
into  the  saddle,  turned  and  waved  my  bou- 
quet toward  him  as  Dick  galloped  off.  Such 
a  cheer  as  the  men  in  the  train  did  raise,  and 
then  such  merry  laughter ;  it  was  fun  to  hear 
them. 

Dr.  Howard  says  it  was  Colonel  Wool  folk 
— a  gallant  young  widower — and  the  men 
that  witnessed  it  guyed  him  unmercifully  on 
having  been  snubbed.  We  came  to  the  west- 
ern extremity  of  Fremont's  Orchard,  ten 
miles,  and  stopped  for  lunch.  Then  came  the 
Sand  Hills,  where  all  the  heaviest  wagons 
had  to  double  teams  to  get  through.  The 
captain  came  on  four  miles  and  selected  a 
camping  ground,  and  we  drove  to  our  places, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  129 

to  wait  for  the  heavy  wagons  to  get  through 
the  sand. 

Hillhouse,  and  several  others,  who  came 
on  with  us,  went  hunting  for  antelope.  We 
have  been  feasting  on  antelope  for  several 
days ;  it  is  fine,  but  if  I  could  have  my  choice 
I  would  rather  live  on  ham  and  bacon  all  the 
while  than  to  have  our  men  go  hunting  in 
this  Indian  country.  Since  we  have  crossed 
the  Platte  we  have  no  protection  from  the 
soldiers,  as  there  are  no  stations  on  this  side 
the  river. 

We  suffer  agony  when  our  boys  are  away 
from  camp  guarding  stock  or  hunting.  I 
have  no  fears  for  myself  nor  any  of  us  while 
we  are  all  together  in  corral ;  but  just  a  few 
away  by  themselves,  how  easily  they  might 
be  cut  off.  There  were  Indians  seen  this 
morning  by  men  looking  for  feed  for  the 
stock.  It  is  almost  dark  and  the  boys  have 
not  come.  I  think  the  captain  is  getting 
anxious;  he  keeps  looking  in  the  direction 
the  boys  have  gone.     Ten  p.m.     The  boys 


130  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

have  just  come  with  one  antelope.  They  lost 
their  bearings  and  came  to  the  river,  one 
mile  or  more  above  camp,  and  that  was  what 
kept  them  so  late.  When  we  scolded,  they 
said  they  were  obliged  to  stay  to  get  at  least 
one  antelope  for  our  Fourth  of  July  dinner 
to-morrow. 

WE  CELEBRATE  THE  EOURTH. 

Tuesday,  July  4. 

We  made  corral  at  eleven  a.m.,  the  cap- 
tain announcing,  *'That  we  will  stay  four 
hours."  I  do  not  know  if  we  stopped  so 
soon,  because  it  is  the  Fourth,  or  because  it 
is  so  intensely  warm,  and  the  sun  beams  so 
hot,  or  because  it  was  such  a  delightful  camp- 
ing-place. Whatever  the  cause,  there  we 
rested  beneath  the  shade  of  large  cottonwood 
trees,  and  it  was  so  pleasant. 

We  had  dinner  at  two.  Our  bill-of-fare 
— oyster  soup,  roast  antelope  with  oyster- 
dressing,    cold   beans   warmed   over,    dried 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  131 

fruit  sauce,  and  our  last  cake  and  custard  for 
desert.  We  used  the  last  of  our  eggs,  which 
were  packed  in  salt;  it  is  surprising  how 
nicely  they  have  kept.  I  believe  they  would 
have  kept  another  month.  We  had  a  very 
enjoyable  feast,  with  an  abundance  of 
lemonade  without  ice.  The  boys  put  up  a 
large  swing  on  two  large  cottonwood  trees; 
two  could  swing  at  once,  with  lots  of  strong 
arms  to  send  us  away  up  high.  We  began 
to  file  into  the  road  at  three  p.m.  Our  fun 
was  all  too  short.  Dr.  Fletcher  rode  with 
Neelie,  and  Milt  Walker  with  me. 

Wednesday,  July  5. 

Here  is  where  we  would  have  crossed  the 
South  Platte — if  we  had  not  forded  it  at  the 
east  end  of  Fremont's  Orchard — on  Lathan's 
Ferry.  If  all  those  wagons  had  crossed  on 
the  ferry  it  would  have  been  a  big  pile  of 
money  for  the  ferrymen,  for  they  charge  one 
dollar  a  team. 

We  passed  a  squalid-looking  Indian  vil- 


132  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

lage  to-day;  it  was  just  teepees  and  huts. 
Oh,  dear,  but  they  do  look  so  uncomfortable. 
We  are  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cache  la  Poudre 
— where  somebody  cached  their  powder. 
The  water  is  so  very  clear  and  cold ;  it  seems 
so  nice  after  the  muddy  Platte.  As  there 
are  no  stations  on  the  north  side  of  the  river, 
there  are  no  wells.  The  Cache  la  Poudre  is 
supplied  by  springs  that  flow  from  the  snow- 
capped mountains  that  seem  to  be  right  over 
there. 

Thursday,  July  6. 
As  we  were  passing  another  Indian  town 
I  peeped  into  two  or  three  of  their  dwelling- 
places.  They  are  desolate-looking  homes; 
no  sleeping-places,  no  tables,  chairs  nor  any 
furniture,  just  some  rolls  of  blankets  and 
buffalo  robes,  some  camp-kettles,  and  that 
was  all.  There  were  squaws  and  pappooses 
innumerable  squatted  around  on  the  outside 
of  their  teepees,  the  squaws  making  mocca- 
sins, or  decorating  them  with  beads.    When 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  133 

we  said  "How,"  they  grinned  and  held  up 
two  fingers,  indicating  they  wanted  two  dol- 
lars for  a  pair.    We  did  not  purchase. 

THE  BLACK   HILLS. 

Friday,  July  7. 

We  are  camped  at  the  foot  of  the  Black 
Hills.  They  seem  like  immense  mountains 
to  me.  There  are  four  large  corrals  near  the 
little  village  of  La  Porte.  We  rushed  through 
with  dinner,  then  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  and  I 
started  for  the  top,  taking  our  note-books 
with  us.  Before  we  had  gone  far,  Winthrop 
and  Frank  joined  us.  Frank  brought  his 
gun;  I  do  not  know  if  he  expected  to  find 
Indians  or  antelope  up  here.  After  much 
puffing  and  blowing,  climbing  and  clamber- 
ing, we  reached  the  top.  Oh,  it  is  magnifi- 
cently grand.  If  only  I  could  make  a  pen- 
picture  of  this  scene  that  others  might  realize 
it,  as  I  do. 

The  mount  upon  which  we  stand  is  shaped 


134  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

like  the  quarter  of  a  ball  or  globe  miles  and 
miles  in  diameter  and  circumference ;  we  hav- 
ing climbed  up  the  outside  of  the  quarter  to 
the  top  edge  are  looking  down  a  steep  preci- 
pice— the  perpendicular  side  of  the  quarter. 
When  a  stone  is  thrown  over,  it  takes  it 
twenty-five  seconds  to  reach  the  bottom, 
where  the  Cache  la  Poudre  River  runs  at  the 
base  of  the  precipice. 

How  easy  to  step  off  into  eternity  from 
this  place.  I  would  not  like  to  live  near  here, 
lest  I  might  be  tempted  to  do  it  some  time. 
The  valley  over  there  looks  as  if — away  back 
in  the  ages  past — another  quarter  of  the 
great  ball  that  had  been  separated  from  this 
quarter,  had  been  lifted  by  giant  hands  and 
carried  away,  leaving  the  most  picturesque 
valley  that  I  have  ever  beheld.  There  are 
three  prosperous-looking  farms  in  sight,  a 
large  herd  of  cattle  grazing,  and  a  beautiful 
grove  or  park  at  the  northern  end  of  the  vale. 
West  of  the  valley,  and  opposite  where  we 
stand,  are  peaks  much  higher  than  this;  be- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  135 

hind  which  the  sun  is  sinking.  The  setting 
sun  has  crowned  the  mountain-tops  with  a 
crown  of  glory  and  brightness.  The  moon 
is  rising  out  of  beautiful,  white  fleecy  clouds 
in  the  east.    It  is  lovely  beyond  description. 

How  beauteous  is  this  earth. 

How  bright  the  sky, 
How  wisely  planned  by  him 
Who  reigns  on  high. 

The  sun  is  gone,  night  is  coming;  we  must 
go,  for  we  are  at  least  one  and  a  half  miles 
from  camp.  I  fired  Frank's  gun  before  start- 
ing; I  aimed  at  the  river,  and  hit  the  mark. 
How  weak  and  insignificant  these  words 
seem  when  compared  with  the  reality. 

WE  VISIT  A  BEAUTIFUL  SPRING. 

Saturday,  July  8. 

The  scenic  beauty  of  the  route  we  have 

come  over  to-day  was  ever  changing.     We 

were  either  coming  through  a  narrow  canon, 

across  a  beautiful  vale,  climbing  or  descend- 


136  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

ing  a  steep  hill  or  mountain.  Nellie  Bower 
and  I  had  started  on  horseback  to  have  the 
morning  to  ourselves,  when  Mr.  Walker 
rode  up  and  asked  us  to  go  with  him  to  a 
lovely  spring  of  delightfully  cold,  clear 
water  he  knew  of,  some  two  or  three  miles 
ahead.  We  consented,  of  course,  and  had 
soon  left  the  wagons  behind  us.  Mr.  W.  has 
been  over  the  road  before  and  seems  to  know 
the  landmarks  and  places  of  interest.  We 
found  the  spring,  as  described,  in  a  beautiful 
dell,  where  the  loveliest  wild  flowers  I  ever 
saw  are  growing  luxuriantly.  We  were  soon 
off  our  horses,  enjoying  the  cool,  delicious 
spring  water.  We  gave  our  horses  a  drink, 
and  then  we  each  gathered  a  large  bouquet 
of  beautiful,  fragrant  wild  flowers.  They 
certainly  are  ''wasting  their  sweetness  on  the 
desert  air." 

I  believe  we  were  almost  an  hour  ahead  of 
the  train.  Mother  scolded,  and  so  did  Mr. 
Bower,  because  we  had  gone  so  far  ahead  of 
the  wagons,  for  it  is  said  these  hills  are  full 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  137 

of  Indians.  I  am  all  the  time  forgetting 
about  the  Indians.  Mr.  Kerfoot  will  not  al- 
low his  girls  to  get  out  of  sight.  I  am  glad 
mother  is  not  so  exacting  as  that,  but  I  ought 
not  to  impose  upon  her  good  nature,  and 
cause  her  to  worry.  I  never  do  intentionally, 
but  sometimes  I  forget. 

We  are  camping  in  a  beautiful  basin  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  high  hills,  and  where 
the  grass  is  plentiful.  There  is  only  one 
other  train  with  us,  but  then  it  is  the  Mc- 
Mahan  train,  and  they  are  all  such  fine-look- 
ing young  men — and  of  course  they  are  brave 
—that  I  always  feel  safe  when  they  are  near. 
Our  captain  has  forbidden  our  going  out  of 
sight  of  camp.  There  are  canons  in  all  di- 
rections; how  I  would  like  to  explore. 

Hillhouse  and  Sim  Buford  gathered  some 
wild  currants  while  herding;  they  will  pass 
for  fruit,  but  they  look  better  than  they 
taste.  We  have  made  sauce  of  them;  with 
lots  of  sugar  and  cream  they  look  inviting, 
and  the  boys  seem  to  like  them;  very  few 


138  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

will  satisfy  me.  We  can  always  have  cream 
for  breakfast,  as  the  milk  stands  over  night, 
and  a  pat  of  the  sweetest,  most  delicious  but- 
ter every  evening,  when  we  travel,  as  the 
milk  is  churned  by  the  motion  of  the  wagon. 
Fruit  is  very  necessary  on  this  trip,  because 
of  the  alkali  in  the  water,  dust,  and  air  we 
breathe,  to  keep  us  in  health. 

Sunday,  July  9. 

I  was  up  very  early  this  morning;  I  can- 
not spend  precious  time  in  bed  after  daylight 
while  we  are  camping  in  this  delightful  place 
and  have  this  perfect  weather.  I  led  Dick 
to  the  spring  for  a  drink,  bathed  my  face  and 
hands  in  the  cool  water,  picked  a  bouquet  for 
the  breakfast-table,  and  returned  to  camp  to 
find  the  girls  in  bed.  They  missed  a  glorious 
sight  by  not  seeing  the  sun  rise. 

Mother  and  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  went  with 
me  to  the  top  of  the  hill  nearest  camp  this 
afternoon.  They  picked  flowers  and  enjoyed 
the  view  for  a  while,  then  returned  to  camp, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  139 

leaving  me  to  come  later.  I  sat  on  a  large 
flat  rock,  just  below  the  top,  as  mother  said, 
*The  Indians  could  see  me  so  much  farther 
if  on  the  very  top."  I  promised  her  I  would 
not  go  out  of  sight ;  that  if  an  Indian  carried 
me  off  they  could  see  him  and  know  where 
I  had  gone.  I  did  so  enjoy  the  quiet  of  this 
Sunday  afternoon ;  I  had  Mrs.  Prentiss's  de- 
lightful book,  "Stepping  Heavenward,"  to 
read,  and  time  passed  so  quickly  the  sun  was 
setting  before  I  thought  of  going  back  to 
camp.  Some  of  the  boys  laughed  and  said, 
"We  were  watching,  and  if  an  Indian  had 
put  in  an  appearance  we'd  have  settled  him ; 
we  knew  you  would  not  see  him  until  he  had 
'you."  I  thanked  them  for  their  watchful- 
ness. 

WE  CUT  OUR  NAMES  IN  STONE. 

Monday,  July  10. 
Just  when  we  had  mounted  our  ponies  for 
our  morning  ride,   Mr.   Walker  came  and 


140  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

asked  us  to  go  with  him  to  the  top  pi  a 
mountain  we  could  see  far  ahead  and  to  the 
right  of  the  road.  He  said,  "The  prospect 
is  very  fine,  indeed,  from  that  mountain-top. 
I  was  there  two  years  ago." 

Cash  and  Neelie  were  included  in  the  in- 
vitation, also  Mary  Gatewood,  but  their  fa- 
thers would  not  let  them  go.  So  Nellie 
Bower  and  I  were  the  only  ones  who  were 
allowed  to  accept  his  invitation.  We  rode 
our  ponies  until  the  ascent  became  too  steep, 
and  then  dismounted  and  climbed.  It  was  a 
hard  climb,  but  we  were  amply  paid.  The 
view  was  magnificently  grand.  We  found 
Mr.  Walker's  name  where  he  had  cut  it  in 
the  soft  stone  two  years  ago,  and  we  left  our 
names,  with  date  and  former  place  of  resi- 
dence, cut  in  the  stone.  There  were  hun- 
dreds of  names  there,  but  I  looked  in  vain 
for  a  familiar  one.  I  wonder  if  any  one  that 
we  know  will  find  ours?  We  passed  the 
graves  of  two  men  this  morning  who  had 
been  killed  by  the  Indians.     What  a  sad 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  141 

fate;  God  forbid  that  any  of  our  men  or  boys 
should  die  such  a  death. 

We  are  camping  near  a  mihtary  post — 
Virginia  Dale.  It  is  just  as  beautiful  as  the 
name  would  imply.  There  are  soldiers  here 
for  the  protection  of  emigrants  passing 
through  these  hills  and  mountains.  Cash 
and  I  were  riding  with  the  captain  when  we 
came  to  the  station.  The  officer  in  charge 
came  out  to  speak  to  the  captain  and  asked 
some  significant  questions,  "How  long  have 
you  been  in  the  hills  ?" 

"Two  days  and  nights." 

"Where  have  you  camped  ?" 

"In  that  basin  about  eighteen  miles  back. 
We  stayed  over  Sunday." 

"Have  the  Indians  troubled  you?" 

"We  have  seen  no  Indians." 

He  seemed  greatly  surprised,  and  said, 
"There  has  been  no  train  come  over  that  road 
within  the  last  month  without  trouble,  espe- 
cially where  you  stayed  over  Sunday.  Did 
not  you  notice  those  caiions  in  every  direc- 


142  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

tion?  The  Indians  could  surround  you  be- 
fore you  could  know  there  was  one  near. 
The  hills  are  full  of  Indians." 

He  told  the  captain  where  to  camp,  and 
where  to  send  the  stock  for  safety  and  pro- 
tection. The  captain  thanked  him,  and  we 
were  starting  on  when  the  McMahan  train 
came  in  sight. 

"Ah,  ha !"  he  exclaimed,  "I  see  now  why 
you  have  not  been  molested.  Just  keep  that 
train  in  sight,  and  you  need  have  no  fear  of 
Indians."  And  he  just  doubled  up  laughing 
until  it  was  embarrassing  to  us. 

"But  why  ?  Why  will  that  train  be  a  pro- 
tection more  than  another?" 

"Don't  you  see  that  portable  engine  lifted 
away  up  there,  and  all  those  iron  pipes  ?  The 
Indians  think  it  is  cannon_,  or  some  sort  of 
machinery  invented  for  their  destruction ;  no 
doubt  they  believe  it  could  kill  them  by  the 
hundreds,  though  the  mountains  stood  be- 
tween it  and  them." 

So  that  is  why  we  have  not  been  mo- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  143 

lested.  We  have  heard  of  depredations  be- 
fore and  behind  us,  but  we  have  not  seen  an 
Indian.  Blessings  on  the  McMahan  train ;  I 
hope  we  will  not  lose  sight  of  it  while  we  are 
in  this  Indian  country. 

We  have  passed  through  some  very  nar- 
row canons  to-day,  where  there  was  barely 
room  for  one  wagon  to  pass.  Great  rocks 
were  hanging  overhead  on  one  side,  with  a 
rushing  stream  beside  and  just  below  the 
road  on  the  other.  There  are  beautiful 
waterfalls  in  the  cafions.  I  was  standing 
watching  one  of  the  highest,  waiting  for  the 
wagons  to  pass.  The  last  one  had  gone 
when  Mr.  Morrison  came  and  peremptorily 
commanded  me  to  "Come  on.  Miss  Sallie. 
The  I-I-I-Indians  will  c-c-c-carry  you  off 
some  of  these  days,"  he  stuttered.  Of  course 
I  went. 

The  captain's  orders  are,  "Do  not  leave 
camp  this  evening."  We  were  only  just  cor- 
ralled when  I  saw  Lyde  Walker  climbing  a 


144  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

near-by  mountain.  It  is  the  first  time  I  have 
known  her  to  leave  camp  since  we  came  into 
the  Black  Hills;  she  is  very  much  afraid  of 
Indians.  When  she  came  back  I  asked, 
"Why,  Lyde,  did  you  not  hear  the  captain's 
order  that  we  were  not  to  leave  camp  this 
evening  ?'* 

"Oh,  there  is  no  danger  when  the  men  are 
on  guard  and  watching.  It  is  when  they 
feel  secure  and  are  not  looking  out  for  them 
that  I  am  afraid.  Indians  do  not  molest 
people  when  they  are  expecting  them." 

LARAMIE  PLAINS. 

Tuesday,  July  ii. 
The  sounding  of  the  bugle  and  the  echo 
that  reverberated  through  the  mountain 
gorges  this  morning  was  enchantingly 
sweet,  and  must  have  driven  slumber  from 
every  eyelid.  We  left  the  hills  at  noon  and 
are  camping  on  Laramie  Plains.  We  came 
over  some  very  steep,  rocky  roads  before  we 
reached  the  plains.     I  watched  the  wagons 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  145 

anxiously  as  they  descended  the  steep,  rocky 
mountain-side,  bounding  and  bumping 
against  the  big  rocks,  expecting  and  dread- 
ing an  upset,  but  all  landed  safely  on  level 
ground  at  last,  and  I  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
thanksgiving.  We  have  not  had  an  uncom- 
fortably warm  night  all  Summer,  but  while 
we  have  been  coming  through  the  hills  the 
nights  have  been  really  cold,  so  that  we  have 
slept  under  blankets  and  comforts,  like  Win- 
ter-time. There  is  no  sickness  in  camp  at 
all ;  it  is  marvelous  how  very  well  we  are.  I 
hope  it  will  continue  so. 

Wednesday,  July  12. 
We  crossed  the  Big  Laramie  River  just 
before  noon.  Had  a  good  crossing ;  the  wa- 
ter is  clear,  the  bed  of  the  river  is  covered 
with  gravel,  the  banks  are  low,  and  the  water 
is  not  very  deep.  I  rode  across  on  Dick ;  the 
water  just  came  to  my  stirrup.  We  will  stay 
here  until  to-morrow,  as  there  is  no  water  for 
fifteen  or  twenty  miles,  and  we  cannot  go  so 


14^  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

far  in  half  a  day.  We  young  people  planned 
a  fishing  expedition  for  this  evening,  but  the 
mosquitoes  are  so  thick  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  we  had  to  give  it  up.  Some  of  the  boys 
went  seining ;  Brother  Winthrop  was  among 
them,  so  we  will  have  fish  for  breakfast  to- 
morrow morning. 

The  mosquitoes  have  not  disturbed  our 
rest  at  night,  yet  they  have  several  times 
been  very  thick  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers, 
but  have  not  been  troublesome  in  camp.  Per- 
haps the  smoke  keeps  them  away.  The  Mc- 
Mahan  train  keeps  with  us,  so  we  are  safe. 
Dr.  Howard  rode  with  us  this  morning;  he 
is  a  widower. 

Thursday,  July  13. 

We  passed  two  large  ponds  of  alkali  this 
morning.  The  water  had  dried  up,  and  the 
alkali  was  two  or  three  inches  thick  all  over 
the  pond;  it  looked  like  ice,  until  we  came 
very  near. 

Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  had  a  sick  headache 
this  afternoon;  I  took  care  of  little  Annie 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD,  ^  147 

that  she  might  not  disturb  her  mother.  She 
is  a  dear,  sweet  child  and  seems  fond  of  me. 

There  was  a  rather  serious  accident  as  we 
were  driving  into  corral.  Mr.  Hazel  wood's 
horses  were  frightened  and  ran  away,  upset- 
ting the  wagon  and  smashing  it  up  consider- 
ably. Mrs.  Hazelwood,  her  sister,  and  two 
children  were  in  the  wagon;  Mrs.  H.  was 
considerably  bruised,  the  others  were  not 
hurt. 

Dick  drank  alkali  water  this  evening.  I 
have  been  feeding  him  fat  bacon;  no  doubt 
the  grease  and  alkali  have  turned  to  soap 
before  now  in  his  stomach,  and  soap  is  not 
poison,  so  he  will  not  die  this  time,  and  I  will 
take  better  care  of  him  the  next  time  we  are 
near  alkali. 

IN  THE  RAIN. 

Friday,  July  14. 
The  men  were  until  almost  noon  repairing 
the  broken  wagon.     An  accident  that  hap- 


148  •  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

pens  to  one  is  assumed  by  all  until  results 
are  overcome.  As  we  were  ready  for  the 
start,  a  little  girl  ran  among  the  oxen  to 
catch  her  pet  crow ;  an  ox  kicked  her  on  the 
forehead  and  cut  a  gash  that  had  to  have  a 
few  stitches  and  be  bandaged,  so  we  were 
delayed  again.  When  order  reigned  once 
more  we  crossed  the  Little  Laramie.  It  is 
very  much  like  the  Big  Laramie,  only  not  so 
wide  nor  deep;  I  rode  Dick  over,  and  then 
came  on  ahead  of  the  train,  keeping  within 
sight.  When  we  had  traveled  about  an  hour 
the  rain  came  down.  I  was  likely  to  get  very 
wet  before  our  wagons  came,  for  they  were 
among  the  last  in  the  train ;  I  took  the  saddle 
and  bridle  off  Dick,  sat  down  on  the  saddle 
to  keep  it  dry,  and  to  wait  for  the  wagon.  I 
was  resigning  myself  to  a  drenching  when 
Mr.  Grier,  driver  of  the  front  wagon,  came 
and  spread  a  great  big  rubber  coat  over  me, 
so  that  I  was  completely  sheltered  and  was 
hardly  damp  when  our  wagons  came. 

Then  mother  drove  the  horses  close  up 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  149 

to  the  wagon  in  front  I  tossed  my  saddle  and 
bridle  in,  hopped  up  on  the  tongue  of  the 
wagon  before  the  wagon  behind  got  close 
up,  and  we  started  without  stopping  but  the 
one  wagon.  We  could  not  stop  until  we 
came  to  feed  for  stock,  so  we  were  obliged . 
to  travel  in  the  rain.  We  drove  into  corral 
about  four  p.m.,  and  are  again  quite  near  the 
mountains.  There  are  more  pleasant  things 
than  camping  in  the  rain.  The  water  is  so 
impregnated  with  alkali  I  fear  it  will  cause 
sickness ;  the  stock  are  in  greater  danger  than 
we,  for  we  can  guard  against  it. 

» 

Saturday,  July  15. 
As  I  climbed  out  of  the  wagon  this  morn- 
ing I  saw  the  most  beautiful  rainbow  I  ever 
looked  at.  The  bow  was  complete,  the  colors 
dazzlingly  bright  and  just  as  vivid  in  the 
center  as  at  the  ends.  It  was  not  raining  in 
camp,  but  raining  hard  on  the  mountain-side. 
The  rainbow  was  so  near  we  might  easily 
have  reached  the  end  and  "found  the  pot  of 


ISO  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

gold."  The  rain  came  down  all  morning; 
we  did  not  break  camp  until  ten  o'clock  and 
then  made  only  a  short  drive.  We  are  camp- 
ing among  the  hills  once  more,  with  not  an- 
other train  in  sight.  The  McMahan  train  is 
behind  us,  but  we  do  not  know  how  far  away 
they  are,  so  we  are  glad  to  wait  until  they 
catch  up.  There  is  a  mountain  near  that  I 
would  like  to  climb,  but  it  is  against  orders. 

Sunday,  July  i6. 
We  are  all  here;  although  some  of  the 
women  last  night  seemed  to  think  there  was 
small  chance  of  our  seeing  the  light  of  this 
morning's  sun.  Had  we  known  that  the 
McMahan  train  was  within  calling  distance 
— just  a  hill  intervening — perhaps  we  would 
have  rested  easier  and  slept  more  soundly. 
It  is  considered  a  very  dangerous  place 
where  we  were  last  night  and  where  we  have 
traveled  to-day.  Although  it  is  Sunday,  I 
am  sure  there  is  not  one  in  camp  that  would 
have  voted  to  stay  there  to  rest.     We  have 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  151 

heard  horrible  stories  of  the  depredations 
that  have  been  committed  along  this  road 
and  in  these  mountains  within  the  last  month. 
We  saw  with  our  own  eyes — ^just  before  we 
came  to  Rock  Creek — a  station  that  had  been 
burned  and  all  the  inmates  killed  or  taken 
prisoners;  there  were  none  to  tell  the  story 
of  the  fight,  although  the  bodies  of  all  who 
were  known  to  be  there  were  not  found.  The 
buildings  wei*e  not  all  burned,  the  fire  either 
went  out,  or  was  put  out  by  the  rain,  after 
the  Indians  left.  They  have  been  repaired, 
and  soldiers  stationed  there  now.  We  saw 
at  the  same  station  a  coach  that  had  been 
riddled  with  bullets;  it  was  found  on  the 
road  about  a  mile  from  the  station,  without 
horses,  driver  or  passengers. 

INDIANS. 

It  is  supposed  the  Indians  killed  the  driver, 
took  the  horses,  and  it  is  not  known  yet 
whether  there  were  passengers  or  not,  the 
coach  being  so  riddled  with  bullets;  it  is 


152  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

feared  there  were  passengers.  A  guard  of 
soldiers  go  with  the  coaches  we  meet,  or  that 
pass  us  now.  We  crossed  Rock  Creek  on  a 
toll-bridge,  and  had  to  pay  fifty  cents  toll  for 
each  wagon. 

Just  after  we  crossed  the  bridge,  and 
where  there  is  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road,  as 
it  winds  around  the  mountain,  we  saw  where 
two  men  had  been  killed  and  two  wagons 
burned  last  week.  The  tire  became  loose  on 
a  wheel  of  the  next  to  the  last  wagon  in  a 
freight  train,  the  men  stopped  to  tighten  it, 
while  the  rest  of  the  train  moved  on,  not 
thinking  of  danger,  and  was  out  of  sight  in 
a  few  minutes.  An  hour  later  some  of  the 
men  came  back  to  see  what  kept  them.  There 
they  were — dead  and  scalped — the  horses 
gone,  and  wagons  on  fire.  The  Indians  had 
taken  all  the  freight  they  could  use,  piled 
wood  under  the  wagons,  and  set  it  on  fire. 
We  saw  quantities  of  white  beans  scattered 
over  the  ground,  also  the  irons  from  the 
wagons. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  153 

We  are  within  sight  of  Elk  Mountain  and 
seemingly  quite  near  it.  Sim  and  Hillhouse 
picked  a  nice  lot  of  gooseberries  while  stop- 
ping at  noon.  I  have  been  sitting  in  the 
wagon,  picking  off  stems  all  afternoon ;  they 
also  brought  a  bucket  of  snow.  It  is  really 
refreshing,  and  such  a  novelty  to  have  a 
snow-ball  to  eat  in  July.  The  gooseberries 
are  quite  plentiful  around  here.  Cash  and  I 
went  with  Hillhouse  and  Sirti  to  pick  some 
this  evening,  but  a  shower  drove  us  to  camp ; 
the  boys  stayed  and  picked  as  long  as  they 
could  see.  If  we  had  time,  we  could  gather 
gooseberries  enough  to  supply  the  train  for  a 
month.  They  are  very  fine  and  large;  they 
are  certainly  an  acceptable  addition  to  our 
bill-of-fare,  where  a  sameness  of  diet  is  un- 
avoidable. I  shall  always  consider  them  a 
fine  fruit  hereafter. 

About  an  hour  after  we  drove  into  corral 
the  McMahan  train  came,  and  their  corral  is 
quite  near.  We  are  so  glad  they  are  here; 
we  feel  safe  when  they  are  near. 


154  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Monday,  July  17. 

Such  a  cold,  rainy,  dismal  day  as  this  has 
been.  It  has  rained  without  stopping  from 
early  morn  until  now,  and  it  is  almost  sun- 
down. This  is  the  first  all-day  rain  we  have 
had  this  Summer.  It  has  rained  all  night 
several  times,  but  that  is  not  so  bad. 

Since  we  have  been  in  this  Indian  country 
the  tents  have  not  been  put  up;  every  one 
seems  to  think  it  safer  in  the  wagons  than  in 
tents  outside  the  corral,  so  we  have  had  to 
sit  in  the  wagons  all  day.  I  have  read, 
sewed,  written,  picked  over  gooseberries  and 
ran  through  the  rain  and  visited  some,  yet 
the  day  has  seemed  long.  The  herders  have 
to  take  the  stock  two  miles  away  to  find  feed, 
so  we  are  consumed  with  anxiety,  notwith- 
standing we  know  our  Father's  care  is  round 
and  about  us,  and  He  can  and  will  protect  us. 
When  we  came  here  we  could  see  Elk  Moun- 
tain, but  now  it  is  enveloped  in  clouds,  en- 
tirely hidden  from  view.  It  is  not  pleasant 
camping  when  it  rains  all  day  long. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  155 

Tuesday,  July  18. 

The  wagons  started  soon  after  daylight, 
before  we  were  out  of  bed.  We  had  been 
on  the  road  a  little  while  when  I  heard  Hill- 
house  call  to  Brother  Winthrop — who  was 
driving  our  wagon — "Oh,  just  look,  Wint. 
Isn't  that  a  grand  sight?" 

I  knew  there  was  something  to  see,  so  I 
was  soon  up  and  dressed  and  sitting  with 
Winthrop.  I  shivered  with  cold  until  my 
teeth  chattered,  but  was  well  repaid  for  any 
inconvenience  by  the  grandeur  of  the  sight  I 
looked  upon.  Why  try  to  describe  or  picture 
anything  so  entirely  impossible?  The  masses 
of  fleecy  white  clouds,  with  the  brightness  of 
the  morning  sun  shining  upon  them  as  they 
floated  around  and  over  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, made  an  ever-changing,  beauteous 
panorama  that  I  cannot  describe.  As  the 
clouds  rose  higher  and  higher,  they  seemed 
to  mass  over  the  top  of  the  mountain,  as  in 
benediction,  glittering  in  the  sunshine  until 
they  seemed  to  melt  away. 


156  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

I  waited  until  the  sun  had  warmed  the  air, 
then  mounted  Dick  for  my  morning  ride. 
The  McMahan  train  broke  corral  and  drove 
into  line  just  behind  our  wagons.  I  had  only 
just  started  when  Dr.  Howard  rode  up  on 
his  pony  Joe  and  requested  the  pleasure  of 
riding  with  me.  The  doctor  is  a  very  pleas- 
ant, cultured  gentleman,  and  is  very  fond  of 
his  pony,  yet  Joe  cannot  be  compared  with 
Dick  for  beauty,  neither  for  easy  gait.  Why, 
Dick  is  the  most  beautiful  pony  on  this  road. 
He  is  a  bright  bay  with  long  and  heavy  black 
mane  and  tail,  and  his  gait  is  as  easy  as  a 
cradle.  I  can  ride  all  day  and  not  be  tired  at 
all.  While  his  horse^— well,  I  will  not  de- 
scribe him.  It  might  hurt  the  doctor's  feel- 
ings. 

We  came  to  the  foot  of  Elk  Mountain,  on 
the  Medicine  Bow,  about  nine  o'clock.  We 
find  plentiful  and  excellent  feed  for  the  stock, 
so  the  captains  have  announced,  ''We  will 
stay  here  until  to-morrow." 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  157 

WE  CLIMB  ELK  MOUNTAIN. 

The  doctor  thanked  me  for  the  pleasure 
our  morning  ride  had  afforded  him,  and 
asked,  "Can  we  not  make  up  a  party  to  cHmb 
Elk  Mountain  after  breakfast?" 

"I  hope  so.  I  will  ask  some  of  the  young 
people." 

About  ten  o'clock  a  few  of  us  commenced 
the  climb.  Lyde  Walker,  Nellie  Bower, 
Cash  and  Neelie,  Sim  Buford,  Brother  Hill- 
house,  Dr.  Howard  and  myself.  We  were 
well  paid  for  the  effort;  we  found  beautiful 
wild  flowers,  and  some  wild  strawberries  not 
five  feet  from  a  snow-bank.  The  snow  is 
in  a  ravine  on  the  north  side  where  the  sun 
does  not  shine.  The  berries  and  flowers  are 
on  the  bank  of  the  ravine,  high  enough  to 
catch  the  rays  of  the  sun,  facing  the  south. 
The  view  was  fine ;  we  could  see  a  large  white 
lake  far  away  to  the  west.  Dr.  Howard  said 
it  was  alkali. 


158  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Wednesday,  July  19. 

We  passed  the  alkali  lake  this  afternoon. 
It  was  a  strangely  beautiful  sight — the  water 
as  white  as  milk,  the  grass  on  the  border  in- 
tensely green.  I  always  thought  grass  would 
not  grow  where  there  is  alkali,  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly growing  there;  the  contrast  of  white 
and  green  was  vivid.  The  wind  was  blowing 
the  water  into  little  glittering,  dancing  skip- 
ping wavelets ;  the  sight  was  so  unusual  that 
it  was  fascinating,  though  the  water  is  so 
dreadfully  poisonous. 

There  are  several  musicians  in  the  Mc- 
Mahan  train;  Lyde  says  they  serenaded  me 
last  night.  She  says  they  stood  between  our 
two  wagons.  I  think  she  is  trying  to  tease 
me. 

"Ask  Dr.  Howard,  if  you  do  not  believe 
me.    He  was  one  of  them." 

"Oh,  no.  I  would  be  ashamed  to  acknowl- 
edge I  did  not  hear  them,  and  would  feel  like 
a  dunce  if  they  had  not  been  there." 

Dr.    Howard    gave  me  the  bouquet  he 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  159 

gathered  on  Elk  Mountain,  which  was  most 
beautifully  arranged,  and  asked  me  'To  keep 
it  until  it  falls  to  dust."  I  have  put  it  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  a  book  and  will  perhaps 
never  think  of  it  again. 

We  came  through  Fort  Halleck  to-day. 
There  were  eight  wigwams,  or  teepees,  at  the 
east  end  of  the  town ;  the  squaws  wore  calico 
dresses  and  hoops.  I  believe  they  were  more 
comical-looking  than  in  their  blankets.  I  fail 
as  yet  to  recognize  "The  noble  red  man." 
They  are  anything  else  than  dignified;  they 
seem  lazy,  dirty,  obnoxious-looking  crea- 
tures. 

Cash  and  I  made  a  few  purchases  at  Fort 
Halleck.  I  paid  eighty  cents  for  a  quire  of 
writing  paper,  and  Cash  paid  fifty  cents  for 
a  can  of  peaches.  Mrs.  Morrison  is  on  the 
sick-list  to-day,  and  Delia  Kerfoot  has  a  very 
sore  mouth — scurvy,  the  doctor  says,  caused 
by  the  alkali  in  the  dust  and  air.  NeeUe  and 
Frank  are  both  complaining. 


i6o  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

WE  CROSS  THE  NORTH  PLATTE. 

Thursday,  July  20. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  a  white 
frost  this  morning,  and  it  is  freezing  cold. 
Mrs.  Morrison  and  Frank  are  better;  Delia's 
mouth  is  healing.  Neelie  continues  to  drag 
around ;  she  will  not  acknowledge  that  she  is 
sick  enough  to  go  to  bed,  but  she  certainly 
looks  sick.  I  wish  they  would  call  Dr. 
Howard;  somehow,  I  have  more  faith  in 
him;  perhaps  because  he  is  older  and  more 
experienced. 

We  are  on  the  banks  of  the  North  Platte ; 
arrived  about  three  o'clock,  did  not  stop  for 
lunch  at  noon.  We  came  ahead  of  the  other 
trains,  which  will  be  here  to-night.  We  will 
have  the  privilege  of  crossing  first  in  the 
morning. 

The  men  have  taken  the  herds  five  miles 
away  to  get  good  feed.  They  are  in  danger 
from  Indians.  The  captain  called  for  volun- 
teers.   My  brothers  both  offered  to  go,  but 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  i6i 

the  captain  said,  "Only  one  of  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond's boys  must  go." 

Hillhouse  said  he  would  be  the  one.  He 
was  on  guard  last  night,  too. 

We  are  in  no  danger  here,  for  there  are 
several  trains  here  now  and  there  will  be 
more  to-night.  Oh,  the  anxious  watching, 
the  prayerful  longing  for  day  that  we  must 
endure  this  night,  because  of  loved  ones  ex- 
posed to  danger.  What  a  precious  privilege 
that  we  can  go  to  the  Mercy-seat  with  the 
assurance  that  if  we  ask  aright  our  petitions 
will  be  granted.  How  do  people  live  with- 
out Christ  and  a  Mercy-seat?  What  can 
they  do,  when  suffering  anxiety,  grief,  or 
bereavement,  if  they  cannot  go  to  Jesus  with 
their  sorrows?  Precious  Saviour,  what  a 
refuge  in  time  of  trouble,  what  a  joy  to  carry 
everything  to  God  in  prayer. 

The  McMahan  train  is  near.  Dr.  Howard 
has  been  here;  he  begged  me  to  let  him  see 
my  diary.    I  asked  to  be  excused. 


l62  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Friday,  July  21. 

The  night  passed  without  alarm,  and  we 
are  all  here;  I  am  thankful.  Some  of  the 
men  in  our  train  were  afraid  to  risk  fording 
the  river,  and  paid  four  dollars  per  wagon 
to  be  ferried  over  on  a  rickety  old  ferry- 
boat that  looked  more  dangerous  than  driv- 
ing over. 

Hillhouse  and  Winthrop  were  both  en- 
gaged with  the  ox-team,  Winthrop  on  the 
seat  and  Hillhouse  riding  Dick.  When  they 
drove  into  the  river  I  motioned  to  mother  to 
keep  quiet  and  drove  the  horse-team  right  in 
behind  them.  The  current  is  very  swift; 
they  had  all  they  could  do  to  keep  the  oxen 
from  going  with  the  current,  and  did  not 
know  I  had  followed  them  until  they  came 
out  on  an  island  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
Hillhouse  smiled  a  sickly  little  smile,  and 
said,  "You  should  not  have  tried  that." 

Dr.  Howard  stood  near,  holding  his  pony 
by  the  bridle.  He  complimented  me  on  my 
skill  in  driving,  and  said,  "I  saw  you  drive 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  "  163 

in  that  swift  and  treacherous  river  with 
bated  breath,  but  soon  saw  that  you  knew 
what  you  were  doing,  yet  I  rode  Joe  in  just 
behind  you  to  be  ready  for  emergencies." 

''Thank  you  for  your  thoughtfulness.  I 
will  not  *halloo  until  I  am  out  of  the  woods' 
— the  other  side  is  to  be  crossed  yet." 

Hillhouse  said,  "You  would  better  wait  on 
the  island,  and  I  will  come  back  and  drive 
your  wagon  over." 

But  of  course  I  could  not  do  that,  after  all 
the  complimenting  I  had  received.  I  drove 
in — with  fear  and  trembling — for  there  lay 
a  big  freight  wagon  upset  in  the  middle  of 
the  stream.  It  was  more  difficult  than  the 
first  side,  the  banks  higher  and  steeper,  and 
the  water  deeper.  We  got  over  without  mis- 
hap; the  doctor  came  on  his  pony  just  be- 
hind us.  I  wandered  off  alone  after  lunch 
and  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  near-by  moun- 
tain. I  found  there  a  large  pyramid  of  loose 
stones  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  piled 


i64  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

there  by  travelers,  each  one  contributing  a 
stone. 

I  selected  a  snow-white  stone  from  the 
mountain-side  and  added  to  the  pile.  There 
is  another  town  of  wagons  being  made  on 
the  west  side  of  the  North  Platte.  The 
wagons  have  been  crossing  all  day,  and  are 
crossing  yet.  Hundreds  of  wagons  have 
been  driven  over  that  turbulent  and  rushing 
river,  and  not  a  serious  accident  occurred. 

I  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  the  Irvine 
train,  but  it  is  not  here.  I  think  it  is  ahead 
of  us,  and  we  will  not  see  the  young  ladies  or 
Mr.  Reade  again  on  this  trip,  yet  as  we  are 
all  going  to  Montana  we  may  perhaps  meet 
again. 

NEELIE  IS  SICK. 

Saturday,  July  22. 

We  are  within  sight  of  Pine  Grove  in 
Wyoming  Territory. 

Neelie  was  very  much  better  this  morn- 
ing; almost  well,  she  said  at  noon,  and  rode 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  165 

her  pony  this  afternoon.  I  was  riding  with 
her  when  I  noticed  a  heavy  rain-storm  com- 
ing. I  begged  her  to  come  on  and  not  risk 
getting  wet. 

"Oh  no,  Miss  SalHe;  I  don't  want  to  ride 
fast.  This  air  is  so  dehcious,  and  I  think  I 
want  to  ride  alone  for  a  while;  you  go  on, 
and  I  will  come  very  soon." 

I  saw  it  was  useless  to  urge  her.  I  am  al- 
ways careful  not  to  expose  myself  unneces- 
sarily to  a  drenching,  so  I  raced  on  to  our 
own  wagons  and  had  barely  time  to  unsaddle 
Dick  and  turn  him  loose  when  down  came 
the  rain  in  torrents.  I  was  so  anxious  about 
Neelie  and  expected  her  to  come  tearing 
through  the  rain.  I  looked  from  the  back  of 
the  wagon  and  saw  her  coming — plodding 
along  at  the  same  slow  gait,  as  if  she  did 
not  know  it  was  raining.  When  the  rain 
was  almost  over  she  came  along — drenched, 
of  course.  She  laughed  at  my  look  of  dis- 
may and  paid  no  heed  to  my  scolding. 
Mother  and  I  both  urged  her  to  go  quickly 


i66  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

and  change  her  wet  garments  for  dry  and 
warm  ones.  She  got  off  her  horse  and 
dimbed  into  the  wagon.  When  we  stopped 
I  went  around  to  see  how  she  fared.  She  sat 
in  the  wagon  with  a  blanket-shawl  around 
her,  and  the  wet  clothes  had  not  been  changed 
for  dry  ones.    She  was  shivering  with  cold. 

"Oh,  Neelie,  my  precious  girl,  I  am  afraid 
you  have  killed  yourself." 

"Oh,  no,  Miss  Sallie;  I  am  not  so  easily 
killed  as  all  that." 

"But,  Neelie,  you  have  been  sick  for  a 
week,  and  now  to  get  this  drenching.  I  fear 
the  consequences." 

The  family  do  not  appear  at  all  anxious, 
so  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  but  hope  and 
trust  that  her  naturally  strong  constitution 
may  bear  even  this  strain.  I  advised  her  to 
go  to  bed,  drink  hot  tea,  and  get  into  a  per- 
spiration. I  doubt  very  much  if  she  will 
doit. 

Milt  Walker  is  on  the  sick  list,  too.  Hill- 
house  went  to  bed  with  a  severe  headache 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  167 

last  night,  but  a  night's  rest  has  entirely  re- 
stored him. 

We  crossed  three  very  muddy  streams  to- 
day, the  first  muddy  water  we  have  seen 
since  leaving  the  South  Platte.  Since  com- 
ing to  the  mountains,  the  water  has  been 
as  clear  as  crystal  until  to-day;  perhaps  we 
are  coming  into  mining  country.  We  stopped 
quite  early  this  afternoon;  the  McMahan 
train  has  passed  and  gone  out  of  sight.  I 
hope  they  will  not  go  too  far,  and  that  they 
will  lend  us  protection  with  their  portable 
engine  and  other  machinery. 

Sunday,  July  23. 
We  are  resting  to-day.  I  went  with  Mrs. 
Hardinbrooke,  Lyde  and  a  gentleman  friend 
of  Lyde's,  for  a  long  ramble  over  the  moun- 
tains this  afternoon.  We  found  a  most  de- 
lightful spring  where  the  water  seemingly 
gushes  out  of  the  rock.  Just  below  this 
spring  was  a  patch  of  the  finest  wild  onions 
I  ever  saw.    We  brought  a  good  supply  to 


i68,  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

camp.  We  are  so  starved  .for  green  vege- 
tables that  everyone  seems  to  enjoy  the 
onions,  though  some  had  never  eaten  onions 
before,  they  said.  For  my  part  I  always  did 
like  onions. 

THE    SUMMIT    O^    THE    ROCKY    MOUNTAINS. 

Monday,  July  24. 
We  passed  the  summit  of  the  Rockies  to- 
day, and  are  camping  on  the  western  or  Pa- 
cific slope  to-night.  The  ascent  has  been  so 
gradual  we  should  not  have  known  when  we 
reached  the  top  but  for  the  little  rivulets  run- 
ning in  different  directions.  Quite  on  the 
summit  and  very  near  to  each  other  we  saw 
two  little  rivulets  starting  on  their  way ;  one 
to  meander  toward  the  Pacific,  while  the 
other  will  empty  its  confluence  into  the  Mis- 
sissippi, and  thence  on  to  the  Gulf.  Just  a 
scoopful  of  earth  could  change  the  course  of 
either  where  they  started — from  the  same 
spring  really.     As  it  is,  how  widely  differ- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  169 

ent  the  scenes  through  which  they  will  pass. 
So  it  is  with  human  lives — a  crisis  is 
reached,  a  decision  is  made,  and  in  one  short 
hour  the  Avhole  trend  of  our  life  is  changed 
with  regard  to  our  surroundings,  associates, 
environments,  etc. 

We  came  through  Bridger's  Pass  to-day, 
crossed  a  toll  bridge  near  Sulphur  Springs, 
and  had  to  pay  fifty  cents  toll  for  each 
wagon.  The  streams  are  all  muddy  that  we 
have  crossed  to-day.  We  saw  two  beaver 
dams;  they  look  like  the  work  of  man  with 
shovel  and  trowel.  We  are  camping  two 
miles  west  of  Sulphur  Springs. 

Tuesday,  July  25. 

We  are  camping  near  another  muddy 
creek  near  a  station  that  was  attacked  by 
Indians  ten  days  ago ;  they  wounded  one  sol- 
dier very  severely  and  ran  off  with  nine 
horses. 

After  we  were  in  corral,  while  waiting  for 
the  stove  to  be  set  up  and  the  fire  to  be  made, 


170  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

I  was  sitting  in  mother's  camp-chair  idling 
and  thinking,  when  NeeHe  came  to  me.  She 
dropped  upon  the  grass  beside  me  and,  lay- 
ing her  head  in  my  lap,  said,  "Oh,  Miss  Sal- 
lie,  I  am  afraid  I  am  going  to  be  sick  in  spite 
of  everything,  and  I  have  tried  so  hard  to  get 
well  without  sending  for  the  doctor." 

Dr.  Fletcher  is  desperately  in  love  with 
her  and  tried  to  tell  her  so  one  day  not  long 
ago,  catching  her  hands  while  talking,  which 
she  resented  as  a  familiarity,  and  has  not 
spoken  to  him  since.  She  told  me  about  it 
the  evening  after.  It  happened  at  noon.  I 
told  her  I  believed  he  was  sincerely  in  earnest 
and  that  she  had  wounded  him  deeply. 

She  told  me  what  she  had  done  to  try  to 
cure  herself;  the  medicine  she  has  taken  is 
enough  to  kill  her.  I  called  mother  and  told 
her  what  Neelie  had  told  me.  Mother  said, 
"You  poor  child,  you  do  look  sick,  indeed; 
you  must  go  to  bed  and  send  for  the  doctor 
right  away."  I  went  with  her  to  the  wagon, 
helped  her  to  get  ready  for  bed,  and  told 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  171 

Cash  to  send  for  Dr.  Fletcher.  She  said  she 
would  as  soon  as  Bush — her  brother — came. 

After  dinner  I  went  again  to  see  Neelie; 
the  doctor  had  not  yet  come,  but  Bush  had 
gone  for  him.  I  stepped  upon  the  tongue  of 
the  wagon  and  could,  with  difficulty,  restrain 
an  exclamation  of  disgust.  Neelie  inter- 
preted my  expression  and  said,  "Cash  just 
would  do  it;  said  I  was  looking  so  like  a 
fright." 

Cash  had  powdered  and  painted  Neelie' s 
pale  face  and  crimped  and  curled  her  hair — 
and  made  her  look  ridiculous — trying  to  hide 
the  sick  look  from  the  doctor.  I  did  not 
answer  Neelie,  but  went  and  scolded  Cash; 
in  a  low  tone  she  said,  "She  was  so  dark 
around  the  eyes,  her  lips  blue,  and  her  cheeks 
so  pale  I  could  not  bear  to  have  Dr.  Fletcher 
see  her  looking  so  homely.  She  has  told 
you  about  their  little  love-tiff?" 

"Yes,  but  don't  you  suppose  he  can  see 
through  that  paint  and  powder  ?  I  am  afraid 
he  will  think  Neelie  did  it,  and  she  will  ap- 


172  DA  YS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

pear  ridiculous  in  his  eyes."  I  saw  the  doc- 
tor coming,  so  came  away.  As  I  was  sitting 
here  writing,  he  came  a  while  ago  and  said, 
"Miss  Raymond,  will  you  sit  with  Miss  Ker- 
foot  to-night  and  see  that  she  has  her  medi- 
cine strictly  at  the  right  time?" 

^'Certainly  I  will.  Is  she  very  sick,  doc- 
tor?" 

"She  is  in  a  much  more  serious  condition 
than  she  or  the  family  realize.  It  would  not 
be  wise  to  alarm  her,  but  the  family  ought 
to  know  she  will  need  very  careful  attention. 
I  will  tell  them  to-morrow.  You  need  not 
sit  up  after  the  last  dose  of  medicine  is  given, 
which  will  be  at  midnight.  I  think  she  will 
rest  better  if  everything  is  quiet,  and  the 
lights  out." 

I  know  from  the  doctor's  tone  and  man- 
ner he  thinks  Neelie  dangerously  ill.  The 
doctor  gave  me  directions  about  her  medi- 
cine, and  I  went  immediately  to  her  wagon. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD,  173 

SIM  BUFORD  SICK. 

Wednesday,  July  26. 

Last  evening  as  I  was  on  my  way  to  sit 
with  Neelie  I  met  Ezra.  He  said,  "Miss 
Sallie,  Sim  is  quite  sick;  very  much  like 
Cousin  Neelie  is,  I  think.  I  wonder  if  we 
are  all  going  to  be  sick?" 

"Oh,  no ;  I  hope  not.  I  am  very  sorry  Sim 
is  sick." 

When  I  left  Neelie — a  little  after  mid- 
night— sleeping  quietly,  to  come  home,  I  no- 
ticed a  light  in  the  wagon  that  Sim  and 
Frank  occupy.  I  did  not  awake  this  morn- 
ing until  everything  was  ready  for  a  very 
early  start.  Mother  had  kept  my  breakfast 
warm  by  keeping  the  stove  until  the  last 
minute.  I  sat  in  the  wagon  and  ate  my 
breakfast  after  the  train  had  started.  When 
through  I  climbed  out  and  went  to  see  how 
Neelie  was.  I  found  her  feverish  and  rest- 
less; her  symptoms  unfavorable. 

Oh,  the  dust,  the  dust;  it  is  terrible.     I 


174  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

have  never  seen  it  half  as  bad ;  it  seems  to  be 
almost  knee-deep  in  places.  We  came  twenty 
miles  without  stopping,  and  then  camped  for 
the  night.  We  are  near  a  fine  spring  of  most 
excellent  water — Barrel  Spring  it  is  called. 
I  do  not  know  why;  there  are  no  barrels 
there.  When  we  stopped,  the  boys'  faces 
were  a  sight ;  they  were  covered  with  all  the 
dust  that  could  stick  on.  One  could  just  see 
the  apertures  where  eyes,  nose  and  mouth 
were  through  the  dust ;  their  appearance  was 
frightful.  How  glad  we  all  are  to  have 
plenty  of  clear,  cold  water  to  wash  away  the 
dust. 

Neelie  is  no  better.  Such  a  long  drive 
without  rest  and  through  such  dust  was 
enough  to  make  a  well  person  sick.  I  fear 
the  consequences  for  both  Neelie  and  Sim, 
for  Sim  is  a  very  sick  boy.  Hillhouse  told 
Sim  last  night  that  we  would  take  him  with 
us  and  take  care  of  him,  if  he  wanted  to  come 
and  Mr.  Kerfoot  would  let  him.  He  wants 
to  come,  of  course;  so  he  sent  for  Mr.  Ker- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  175 

foot  this  morning  to  come  to  his  wagon,  as 
he  wished  to  see  him  on  business. 

Mr.  Kerfoot  came,  and  Sim  asked  to  be 
released  from  his  contract  to  drive  through 
to  CaHfornia.  Mr.  Kerfoot  asked,  "Why  do 
you  want  to  leave  us  ?" 

"I  believe  Montana  is  the  place  for  a 
young  man  to  go,  and  besides  I  am  very  sick 
and  can  have  better  care  with  the  Raymonds 
than  I  can  here,  for  Neelie  needs  all  your 
attention." 

"I  reckon  your  chances  are  as  good  as  the 
rest  of  us  have."    And  walked  off. 

Frank  came  for  me,  and  I  went  to  see  Sim ; 
he  is  very  sick,  has  a  high  fever  and  coated 
tongue.  He  asked  me  to  see  Mr.  Kerfoot. 
Frank  went  with  me.  Mr.  K.  seemed  to 
know  what  we  came  for;  he  was  scarcely 
civil.  I  put  the  case  plainly,  and  said,  "We 
must  take  care  of  Sim,  either  with  or  with- 
out your  consent;  we  owe  it  to  his  father 
and  mother,  and  to  himself,  to  see  that  he  is 


176  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

taken  care  of.     He  cannot  be  taken  care  of 
where  he  is." 

After  re-arranging  the  boys'  wagon  and 
making  room  for  Sim's  bed  and  other  be- 
longings ;  Ezra,  Frank  and  Hillhouse  helped 
him  to  the  wagon  and  put  him  to  bed,  while 
I  went  to  the  McMahan  train,  which  was 
quite  near,  and  asked  Dr.  Howard  to  come 
and  prescribe  for  him.  The  doctor  came, 
bringing  the  medicine  with  him.  He  says 
it  is  mountain  fever.    • 

OUR  TRAIN  DIVIDED. 

The  separation  of  the  train  is  being  talked 
of,  and  is  no  doubt  absolutely  necessary,  for 
the  herd  is  so  large  it  is  hard  to  find  pasture 
for  them  all  together.  When  the  division  is 
made,  those  going  to  California  will  form 
one  corral,  and  those  bound  for  Montana  will 
form  another.  This  will  separate  us  from 
Mr.  Ker foot's  family;  I  do  hope  we  will  not 
have  to  part  while  Neelie  is  so  sick.  I  do  so 
want  to  help  take  care  of  her. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD,  177 

Thursday,  July  2y. 

Among  the  families  that  came  into  our 
train  at  Kearney  was  a  family  of  four  young 
ladies  and  their  father — a  widower — named 
Ryan.  Sue,  Kate,  Mary  and  Maggie  are 
their  names.  Mr.  Ryan  told  some  of  the 
young  men  that  he  was  taking  his  daughters 
to  the  west,  where  there  are  more  men  and 
fewer  women,  so  they  could  have  a  better 
chance  to  get  good  husbands  than  in  Mis- 
souri. It  has  been  a  good  joke  among  the 
boys,  and  some  of  them  have  tried  to  be  very 
gallant  to  the  young  ladies — as  they  are  on 
the  market. 

George  Carpenter,  a  driver  for  Hardin- 
brooke  and  Walker,  when  the  train  separated 
this  morning,  pretended  to  go  into  hysterics. 
He  had  a  fit  on  the  inside  of  the  corral  when 
Mr.  Ryan  drove  off  with  the  other  half  of 
the  train.  Mr.  Kerfoot  did  not  know  he  was 
fooling,  and  ran  to  his  assistance;  the  cap- 
tain passed,  took  in  the  situation  and  smiled. 
Mr.  Kerfoot  knew  then  it  was  a  hoax,  and  it 


178  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

made  him  so  mad  he  declared  he  would  not 
stay  in  a  train  where  the  captain  would  smile 
at  such  conduct. 

The  doctor  had  said  to  him,  'It  is  neces- 
sary that  I  see  Neelie  several  times  during 
the  day,  and  you  will  be  taking  great  risk  if 
you  leave  the  train  until  she  is  much  better." 
He  had  decided  to  stay,  and  join  the  others 
any  time  before  they  came  to  the  California 
road,  west  of  Green  River.  He  was  so  mad 
at  the  captain  for  smiling  at  Carpenter's  non- 
sense, and  because  he  did  not  rebuke  him, 
that  he  made  the  boys  bring  in  the  horses 
and  cattle  and  hitch  up  as  quickly  as  possible. 
In  an  hour  after  the  others  started  they  had 
followed.  Mr.  Kerfoot  did  not  say  good- 
bye to  any  one.  I  do  hope  Neelie  will  not 
suffer  for  his  crankiness. 

We  are  now  a  corral  of  twenty  wagons, 
the  greater  number  freight  wagons ;  they  are 
in  corral  on  the  opposite  side,  while  the  fami- 
lies are  all  on  our  side.  The  Hardinbrookes, 
Walkers,    Bowers,    Kennedys,    Morrisons, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  179 

Currys — a  family  of  five — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Baily  and  their  daughter,  about  ten  years  old, 
and  a  widowed  sister  of  Mrs.  Baily  and  her 
little  girl,  about  the  same  age  as  her  cousin, 
are  with  us  at  the  back  end  of  the  corral.  I 
do  not  know  these  people,  only  just  to  speak 
when  we  meet,  but  they  now  help  to  form 
our  corral. 

We  came  only  two  or  three  miles  after  the 
train  separated,  just  far  enough  to  get  out  of 
the  dust.  Mr.  Ker foot's  family  and  ours 
have  been  almost  as  one  family  since  we 
have  been  on  the  road,  and  I  have  become 
greatly  attached  to  all  of  them  and  especially 
to  Neelie.  She  is  the  dearest,  sweetest  girl, 
so  very  unselfish,  and  always  ready  to  help 
any  and  every  one  that  needs  help.  There  is 
not  one  in  the  family  but  could  be  spared 
better  than  Neelie  except,  of  course,  her  fa- 
ther. They  all  love  her  so,  and  depend  upon 
her  for  everything.  She  is  a  precious  daugh- 
ter, a  darling  sister,  and  a  true  friend. 

Sim  is  very  much  better;  he  has  some 


i8o  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

fever,  but  not  so  high  a  temperature  as 
yesterday.  Dr.  Howard  is  very  attentive. 
He  says  it  is  mountain  fever  that  Sim  and 
NeeHe  both  have.  Dr.  Fletcher  called  him 
to  see  Neelie ;  he  says  she  is  a  very  sick  girl, 
but  not  v^rorse  than  Sim  was  when  he  first 
saw  him.    Her  temperature  is  not  so  high. 

I  wonder  if  mountain  fever  is  contagious, 
or  what  it  is  that  causes  it?  It  seems  the 
air  is  so  pure  and  invigorating  one  could  not 
get  sick  at  all.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life, 
and  mother  seems  so  well.  I  am  afraid  it  is 
the  sameness  of  diet  and  poor  cooking  that 
is  making  Mr.  Kerfoot's  folk  sick.  The 
bread  they  make  is  hard  as  brick-bats  when 
cold. 

WE  OVERTAKE  THE  CALIFORNIA  TRAIN. 

Friday,  July  28. 
We  came  up  with  the  other  half  of  the 
train  about  ten  o'clock,  and  have  traveled  in 
company  the  rest  of  the  day.    We  have  sepa- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  i8i 

rate  corrals  about  two  hundred  yards  apart; 
the  stock  is  not  herded  together. 

Neelie  has  been  restless  with  high  fever 
and  flighty  when  she  dozes;  with  eyes  half 
open,  poor  girl  she  is  certainly  very,  very 
sick. 

We  are  near  a  delightful  spring,  cold  as 
ice,  and  clear  as  crystal.  I  went  to  the  spring 
to  bathe  my  face  and  hands,  and  brush  my 
hair.  Mr.  Kerfoot  and  Frank  came  for  wa- 
ter. Mr.  Kerfoot  said,  "Miss  Sallie,  why 
don't  you  and  your  folks  come  and  go  to 
California,  where  you  started  to  go  ?" 

"Why,  Uncle  Ezra,  you  know  the  reason. 
We  think  Montana  the  better  place  for  the 
boys  to  get  a  start,  and  we  want  to  do  the 
best  we  can  for  them." 

"Tut,  tut ;  wealth  is  not  the  chief  thing  in 
life.  You  can  make  a  living  anywhere,  and 
Montana  is  an  awful  place.  Why,  the  only 
law  they  have  is  mob  law,  and  if  a  man  is 
accused  of  crime  he  is  hung  without  judge 
or  jury." 


i82  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"Notwithstanding,  there  seems  to  be  a 
great  many  nice  people  going  there,  and  I 
am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  my  brothers  be- 
ing accused  of  crime.'* 

"I  do  believe  you  will  regret  going  to 
Montana,  and  I  also  believe  it  is  all  your 
doing  that  you  are  going.  I  think  it  is  very 
unkind  of  you  to  leave  us  now  when  Neelie 
is  so  sick  and  needs  you  so  much." 

"We  are  not  leaving  you,  Mr.  Kerfoot ;  it 
is  you  leaving  us  against  the  doctor's  orders, 
too." 

I  made  a  great  mistake  saying  that,  he 
fairly  raved ;  he  was  so  angry,  actually  be- 
side himself  with  rage.  He  said  very  unkind 
things  without  the  least  foundation  or  truth 
in  them,  and  which  I  will  try  to  forget.  I 
am  so  sorry  for  him.  I  did  not  answer  a 
single  angry  word,  and  I  am  glad  I  did  not. 
But  Frank  did ;  he  was  about  as  angry  as  his 
uncle  was,  and  talked  manfully  in  my  de- 
fense. He  gave  his  uncle  the  lie,  and 
clenched  his  fists  and  seemed  ready  to  fight. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  183 

I  ended  the  embarrassing  scene  by  walking 
away.  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  was  waiting  for 
me ;  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  very  steep 
point,  which  was  hard  to  climb,  and  we  were 
out  of  breath  when  we  reached  the  top  and 
were  glad  to  sit  and  rest.  The  view  was 
fine,  the  evening  pleasant,  and  we  were  glad 
of  each  other's  companionship,  but  we  did 
not  talk.  I  think  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  at- 
tributed my  silence  to  anxiety  about  Neelie, 
and  she  was  not  far  from  the  truth. 

Saturday,  July  29. 

Neelie  was  very  much  better  this  morning; 
her  fever  gone,  she  was  very  weak,  but  was 
free  from  pain.  Her  medicine  had  the  de- 
sired effect.  She  had  rested  quite  well  last 
night — better  than  since  she  has  been  sick — 
and  all  her  symptoms  are  favorable. 

The  doctor  seemed  greatly  encouraged 
and  told  Mr.  Kerfoot  that  if  they  would  stay 
here  until  Monday  he  felt  sure  Neelie  would 
be  out  of  danger  and  they  could  move  on 


i84  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

without  any  risk  of  doing  her  harm.  He  did 
not  dream  that  Mr.  Kerfoot  would  again 
disregard  his  advice.  Neelie  continued  bet- 
ter until  noon,  then  some  one  proposed  mov- 
ing on  a  half  day's  drive,  thought  it  would 
not  hurt  her  if  they  made  only  short  drives 
at  a  time. 

Mr.  Kerfoot  listened,  and  finally  con- 
sented. He  is  very  much  afraid  of  Indians, 
and  in  a  few  days  we  will  be  out  of  the  In- 
dian-infested country.  The  doctor  is  very 
much  out  of  patience  with  him,  told  me  he 
gave  Mr.  Kerfoot  a  piece  of  his  mind. 

You  must  make  big  allowance  for  the  poor 
man.  He  does  not  realize  that  he  is  endan- 
gering Neelie's  life;  he  cannot  believe  it  pos- 
sible that  such  a  calamity  as  Neelie's  death 
can  befall  them  while  he  is  trusting  in  a  mer- 
ciful Father  above.  Yet  I  do  wish  someone 
might  have  exercised  authority  and  pre- 
vented their  going. 

Sim  is  very  much  better,  improving  rap- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  185 

idly.    Mr.  Walker  is  able  to  be  around  once 
more.    I  wonder  if  he  had  mountain  fever  ? 

I  have  been  trying  to  get  the  dust  out  of 
our  wagon  this  afternoon ;  it  was  hard  work 
taking  everything  out  and  cleaning  off  the 
dust.  Lyde  Walker  pleasantly  entertained 
us  this  evening  with  songs  accompanied  with 
guitar.  The  wagon  the  Walkers  occupy  is 
just  in  front  of  ours  since  the  separation. 

ON   EMITTER   CREEK. 

Sunday,  July  30. 

We  came  fifteen  miles  to-day,  but  have 
not  overtaken  the  California  train.  It  must 
be  that  Neelie  is  no  worse,  and  their  travel- 
ing yesterday  did  her  no  harm,  or  they  would 
have  waited  over  to-day;  we  shall  hope  so 
anyway. 

Dr.  Howard  rode  with  me  this  morning. 
We  are  traveling  on  Bitter  Creek,  which  is 
considered  the  very  worst  part  of  all  the 
road.  I  had  heard  so  much  about  the  deso- 
lateness  of  this  part  of  the  country  that  I 


i86  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

expected  to  find  a  barren  waste.  It  is  not  so 
bad  as  represented.  There  are  long  distances 
where  there  is  not  sufficient  pasture  for  the 
stock,  but  in  places  the  feed  is  plentiful.  The 
captain  and  two  or  three  men  are  off  the 
road  the  greater  part  of  the  day  hunting  pas- 
ture; we  stop  when  they  find  it  at  whatever 
hour  it  may  be. 

Monday,  July  31. 
We  came  twelve  miles,  passed  one  station ; 
it  was  built  of  stone  and  seemed  a  very  com- 
fortable place.  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  has  been 
quite  sick  to-day.  I  have  taken  care  of  little 
Annie.  We  have  not  had  any  word  from 
Neelie.  I  trust  that  no  news  means  good 
news.  Sim  was  able  to  sit  up  in  the  wagon 
for  a  while  this  afternoon.  I  think  with  care 
he  will  be  well  in  a  few  days.  We  have  had 
delightful  weather,  since  we  passed  the  sum- 
mit. The  roads  are  quite  dusty,  but  not  like 
they  were  before  we  came  to  Barrel  Springs. 
The  water  in  Bitter  Creek  is  not  so  nice  as 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  187 

the  mountain  streams  and  springs,  but  it  is 
not  bitter,  as  I  thought  it  would  be  from  its 
name. 

Tuesday,  August  i. 
We  are  at  Point  of  Rocks,  the  place  is 
rightly  named;  one  who  never  saw  them 
could  hardly  imagine  such  enormous  piles 
of  rock;  they  are  high  as  mountains,  with 
scarcely  any  dirt  among  them,  the  sides  are 
smooth  and  even,  the  stone  is  soft  like  slate 
or  sandstone,  and  the  whole  face  of  the 
enormous  pile,  as  high  as  man  can  reach,  is 
literally  covered  with  names,  dates,  and 
places  of  former  residence  from  all  over  the 
United  States.  I  looked  in  vain  for  some 
familiar  name.  I  left  my  name  in  a  conspicu- 
ous place,  so  if  any  of  my  friends  look  for 
my  name  they  will  not  be  disappointed. 
There  are  springs  flowing  from  the  clefts  in 
the  rock;  and  oh,  with  what  pleasurable  an- 
ticipation did  I  hasten  to  partake  of  the  pure 
water,  as  I,  of  course,  supposed  it  was. 


i88  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

I  had  been  riding  with  the  captain  as  he 
came  ahead  to  find  a  camping  place  when 
the  train  came.  I  rode  to  our  wagon,  got  a 
cup  and  crossed  Bitter  Creek  to  get  a  drink 
of  nice,  cold  spring  water.  I  took  one  swal- 
low. Oh,  oh,  oh;  the  horrid  stuff.  I  was 
glad  there  was  no  one  with  me  to  see  the 
face  I  made.  I  think  I  never  swallowed  a 
more  disagreeable  dose.  It  was  the  strong- 
est sulphur-water  I  ever  tasted.  In  my  haste 
and  eagerness  I  did  not  notice  that  the  at- 
mosphere was  impregnated  with  sulphur, 
and  the  sulphur  formations  around  the 
springs,  because  they  were  covered  with  dust. 

The  wind  is  blowing  as  cold  as  Green- 
land. I  expect  we  will  have  to  go  to  bed  to 
keep  from  freezing.  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  is 
no  better;  her  symptoms  are  the  same  as 
Sim's  and  Neelie's  were  at  first,  and  we  fear 
she  is  taking  the  fever.  Dr.  Fletcher  thinks 
Neelie  must  be  better,  or  we  would  have 
heard,  as  Mr.  Kerfoot  said  he  would  send 
back  for  him  if  she  got  any  worse. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  189 

DELAYED  ANOTHER  DAY. 

Wednesday,  August  2. 
We  had  a  very  cold  night;  there  was  ice 
a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick  this  morning. 
Several  head  of  Hardinbrooke's  and  Walk- 
er's cattle  were  missing  this  morning;  the 
men  have  been  hunting  them  all  day,  they 
were  found  this  evening  in  a  canon  four 
miles  from  camp;  there  were  the  tracks  of 
two  horses,  with  shoes,  that  had  driven  them 
there.  The  Indians  do  not  shoe  their  horses, 
so  there  must  be  thieves  besides  Indians  in 
this  country.  And  here  we  are  another  whole 
day's  drive  behind  the  other  half  of  our 
train.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  it  will  be  possible  to 
overtake  them  now,  before  our  roads  sepa- 
rate entirely.  They  must  be  at  least  two  days 
ahead  of  us,  if  they  have  not  been  delayed. 

Thursday,  August  3. 
The  mountains  in  this  region  are  very  bar- 
ren, composed  of  sand  and  rock,  principally. 


190  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

It  comes  nearer  being  desert  than  anywhere 
on  the  road.  We  have  traveled  all  day,  and 
have  come  only  thirteen  miles.  The  road 
has  been  very  rough  indeed.  I  rode  in  the 
wagon  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  so  I  could 
take  care  of  little  Annie  Hardinbrooke ;  her 
mother  is  very  sick.  I  have  thought  so  much 
about  Neelie,  whenever  the  wheels  would 
strike  a  rock,  or  jolt  down  into  a  rut;  how 
she  must  have  suffered,  if  in  pain  or  fever; 
how  hard  it  must  have  been  for  her. 

Lyde  says  Dr.  Fletcher  is  very  impatient 
and  cross,  because  of  the  delay;  he  threat- 
ened to  take  a  horse  and  go  horseback  yes- 
terday, when  he  found  the  train  would  not 
move.  She  thinks  he  is  very  anxious  about 
Neelie,  and  very  much  in  love. 

Friday,  August  4. 

The  wolves  howled  around  our  camp  all 

last  night  and  kept  Caesar — our  watch-dog 

— barking;  so  we  could  not  sleep.     Have 

made  only  a  short  drive,  and  are  camping  at 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  191 

Rock  Springs,  where  the  road  forks.  The 
men  are  not  agreed  as  to  which  road  to  take ; 
the  upper — or  right-hand  road — is  the 
shortest,  but  the  lower  is  best  supplied  with 
pasture  and  water.  If  we  take  the  upper 
road  we  cannot  hope  to  see  our  friends  again, 
so  Dr.  Fletcher  and  I  want  to  take  the  lower 
road,  for  we  still  hope  that  we  may  overtake 
them. 

Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  is  very  sick ;  I  fear  we 
are  going  to  have  another  case  of  serious 
sickness  in  our  camp,  I  have  taken  care  of 
Annie  again  to-day,  which  seems  to  be  the 
most  efficient  service  I  can  render,  as  Lyde 
and  Mrs.  Joe  Walker  take  care  of  Mrs.  Har- 
dinbrooke when  her  husband  cannot  be  with 
her.  He  takes  all  the  care  of  her  at  night, 
and  a  most  excellent  nurse  he  seems  to  be. 
Sim  is  quite  well,  only  pale  and  weak. 

Saturday,  August  5. 
The  decision  was  made  in  favor  of  the 
lower  road.    As  the  train  was  rolling  out  I 


192  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

had  just  mounted  my  pony,  when  Dr.  Flet- 
cher came  and  asked  me  to  ride  with  him. 
He  has  never  seemed  to  care  for  my  com- 
pany, nor  I  for  his  until  since  we  have  been 
so  anxious  about  Neelie.  Our  anxiety  has 
been  a  bond  of  sympathy,  and  we  have  rather 
enjoyed  each  other's  society.  We  had  gone 
a  short  distance  ahead  of  the  train  when  we 
saw  someone  coming  horseback.  I  soon  saw 
that  it  was  Frank.  We  hurried  on  to  meet 
him.  He  shook  hands  without  speaking.  I 
asked,  "How  is  Neelie?" 

"She  is  very  low.  I  came  after  you,  doc- 
tor. Our  camp  is  about  four  miles  from 
here;  we  have  waited  two  days  for  you,  and 
thought  you  would  certainly  come  yesterday. 
When  you  did  not  come,  we  thought  you 
must  have  gone  the  upper  road,  and  I  was 
going  back  as  far  as  the  first  station  to  in- 
quire if  you  had  passed.  I  am  glad,  indeed, 
to  meet  you,  but  greatly  fear  you  will  not  be 
in  time  to  save  Neelie." 

The  doctor  asked  two  or  three  questions, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  193 

excused  himself  and  rode  away  at  a  gallop, 
leaving  Frank  and  I  to  follow,  while  I  plied 
him  with  questions,  which  he  answered  pa- 
tiently. He  then  said,  "Neelie  was  much 
better  for  a  day  or  two  after  we  left  you ;  we 
all  thought  she  was  getting  well;  she  spoke 
of  you  every  time  I  saw  her,  and  wondered 
why  you  did  not  come.  Since  the  fever  came 
back  I  have  not  talked  to  her  at  all.  Part  of 
the  time  she  has  been  delirious,  and  when 
conscious  she  was  too  weak  to  talk." 

Oh,  dear.  I  do  so  want  to  see  her  and 
help  take  care  of  her. 

A  FATAL  SHOOTING. 

We  rode  a  while  in  silence,  then  Frank 
said,  "That  is  not  all  the  bad  news  I  have  to 
tell.  Miss  Sallie," 

I  looked  up  quickly  and  asked,  "What  else 
has  happened,  Frank?" 

"Frasier  was  shot  and  killed  day  before 
yesterday  evening." 


194  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"Oh,  Frank;  how  did  it  happen?" 

*'Hosstetter  did  it,  but  I  think  he  was  not 
much  to  blame." 

Frasier  is  the  man  who  spoke  to  Casfi, 
NeeHe  and  I,  as  we  were  watching  the 
wagons  ferried  across  the  Missouri  River, 
whose  son  ran  away  from  his  mother,  and 
home,  to  come  to  his  father,  and  go  with  him 
to  Montana.  Frasier  had  teams  and  wagons 
for  freighting,  and  Hosstetter  some  capital 
to  invest  in  freight,  to  take  to  Montana. 
Frasier  advised  the  purchase  of  flour,  and 
he  would  freight  it  to  Virginia  City  for  fif- 
teen dollars  per  cwt.  He  said  flour  was 
worth  fifty  and  sixty  dollars  per  hundred  in 
Virginia  City.  (So  it  was  in  the  Spring  of 
1864,  and  as  high  as  seventy-five  and  one 
hundred  dollars  per  hundred,  which  was  the 
cause  of  a  bread  riot  in  Virginia  City.) 

No  doubt  Frasier  was  honest  in  his  ad- 
vice, and  would  have  invested  in  flour  for 
himself.  He  charged  more  freight  than  was 
right,  for  ten  and  twelve  cents  is  the  prevail- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  19S 

ing  price;  but  then  Hosstetter  should  have 
found  that  out  for  himself. 

When  he  found  he  had  been  imposed  upon 
and  learned  that  flour  is  retailing  at  Vir- 
ginia City  for  $15  per  hundred,  he  was 
angry,  dissatisfied,  and  perhaps  quarrelsome. 
Frasier  was  no  doubt  very  aggravating. 
They  had  quarreled  several  times,  and  the 
evening  of  the  3d,  Frasier  was  heard  to  say 
to  Hosstetter  in  a  threatening  tone: 

"You  may  consider  yourself  lucky  if  you 
ever  see  Montana.  You  need  not  expect  to 
get  any  of  this  flour.  It  will  take  it  all  to 
pay  the  freight." 

It  was  getting  dark,  and  Frasier  stood 
with  one  hand  on  a  wheel  as  he  talked. 
He  then  got  into  the  wagon  and  out  again, 
with  something  in  his  hand,  which  Hosstet- 
ter thought  was  a  revolver  in  the  gathering 
darkness.  He  came  back  to  the  wheel  where 
he  had  been  standing  when  he  made  the 
threat,  and  Hosstetter  thought  he  had  come 
to  shoot  him,  and  fired  twice,  as  he  thought, 


196  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD, 

to  save  his  own  life.  Frasier  fell,  shot 
through  the  brain,  and  died  instantly. 

Then  it  was  found  he  had  a  hatchet  in  his 
hand,  and  had  come  to  tighten  a  tire  on  the 
wheel,  which  he  had  found  loose  when  he 
laid  his  hand  on  it.  Frasier's  eldest  son  of 
fourteen  years  is  here.  There  are  five  chil- 
dren and  their  mother  at  home.  Hosstetter 
has  three  children  and  a  wife.  Eleven  in- 
nocent persons  to  suffer,  no  one  knows  how 
intensely,  for  that  rash  act. 

Frasier's  son  knelt  beside  his  father's 
dead  body,  and  placing  his  hand  on  his 
breast,  he  swore  a  fearful  oath  that  he  would 
have  but  one  purpose  in  life  until  his  father's 
death  is  avenged.  Oh,  what  a  shocking  am- 
bition for  so  young  a  boy. 

Frasier  and  Hosstetter  have  traveled  and 
camped  near  us  all  the  way  from  Platts- 
mouth.  When  the  train  was  organized  they 
came  into  it ;  when  it  was  divided  they  went 
with  the  others  as  there  were  not  so  many 
of  them,  and  the  herd  was  smaller. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  197 

By  the  time  Frank  and  I  had  discussed  the 
direful  circumstances  connected  with  Fra- 
sier's  death,  in  the  presence  of  this  greater 
calamity  Neelie's  sickness  did  not  seem  so 
sad  an  affliction  as  it  had  before,  for  she  is 
not  dead,  and  while  there  is  life  there  is  hope. 

We  came  in  sight  of  three  corrals  about 
eight  o'clock,  camping  near  together. 

TRIED    FOR    MURDER. 

Everything  had  a  funereal  appearance. 
Men  stood  around  in  small  groups  talking 
earnestly  in  a  low  voice,  whittling  sticks,  the 
incessant  occupation  of  most  men  when  try- 
ing to  think. 

Those  with  whom  we  are  acquainted  bowed 
as  we  passed  them,  without  speaking.  I  was 
soon  off  my  horse  and  ready  to  see  Neelie, 
while  Frank  took  Dick  to  hitch  him  for  me. 

As  I  approached  the  tent  where  Neelie  is, 
Mrs.  Kerfoot  came  to  meet  me. 

"How  is  she,  Aunt  Mildred?"  I  asked 
anxiously. 


198  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"We  think  perhaps  she  is  better  now.  She 
is  quiet  and  resting  easy,  but  she  has  had  a 
very  restless  night,  and  the  doctor  says  she 
must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet;  not  the  least 
excitement." 

She  had  led  me  away  from  the  tent  while 
talking.  I  saw  in  a  flash  what  she  meant.  I 
was  not  to  see  Neelie. 

"After  we  left  you  she  kept  asking  about 
you,  and  when  you  did  not  come,  we  thought 
perhaps  you  had  gone  the  short  cut,  and  so 
we  told  her  you  had  gone  the  short  cut  to 
Montana,  and  we  would  not  see  you  any 
more.  She  seemed  grieved  at  first,  but  be- 
came reconciled  to  what  could  not  be  helped, 
and  now,  if  she  should  see  you  of  course  it 
would  excite  her,  and  I  know  you  would  not 
do  anything  that  might  harm  her,  or  make 
her  worse." 

"Oh,  no;  of  course  not." 

Emma,  Delia  and  Juddie  had  come  to 
where  we  were  talking.     I  kissed  them  all, 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  199 

said  good-bye,  and  came  away,  with  a  heavy 
heart. 

I  unhitched  Dick  and,  leading  him  by  the 
bridle,  went  on  in  advance  of  the  trains,  se- 
lected a  place  for  the  corral,  unsaddled  Dick, 
and  waited  for  the  wagons.  I  did  not  have 
long  to  wait,  and  the  captain  was  so  good 
as  to  corral  on  the  place  I  had  selected. 

I  had  a  motive  in  being  in  advance  of  the 
other  trains.  I  hoped  to  get  Hillhouse  and 
mother  to  consent  to  pull  out  of  corral  and 
go  on  if  the  train  did  not  move.  We  are 
not  in  any  danger  from  Indians  now,  and 
we  can  go  alone  if  no  others  choose  to  go 
with  us.  I  cannot  bear  to  stay  here  and  not 
see  Neelie. 

We  could  not  move  to-day,  but  Hillhouse 
says  we  will  to-morrow  morning.  The  men 
from  these  four  trains  elected  judge,  jury, 
prosecuting  attorney  and  lawyer  for  the  de- 
fense, and  have  tried  Hosstetter  for  murder. 
The  jury   brought  in   a  verdict  of   "Not 


200  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

guilty."    He  shot  in  self-defense,  as  Frasier 
had  threatened  to  kill  him. 

Hillhouse  served  on  a  jury,  the  first  time 
in  his  life.  He  is  only  twenty.  They  buried 
Frasier  yesterday.  Lyde  and  I  visited  his 
grave  this  afternoon.  Hosstetter  seems  very 
remorseful;  blames  himself  for  being  so 
hasty. 

Sunday,  August  6. 

We  were  up  bright  and  early  this  morn- 
ing. By  the  time  other  camps  were  at  break- 
fast we  were  ready  to  start,  one  other  fam- 
ily with  us,  Mr.  Curry,  his  wife  and  four 
boys.  When  Hillhouse  spoke  to  the  captain 
about  our  going  on,  he  said  he  thought  it 
advisable,  as  our  teams  are  in  good  con- 
dition, the  cattle  not  at  all  lame.  We  can 
make  much  better  time  than  the  train  can,  as 
so  many  of  the  cattle  are  lame,  they  will  be 
obliged  to  travel  slowly.  There  is  no  danger 
from  Indians,  and  after  we  reach  Green 
River  pasture  will  be  plentiful,  without  go- 
ing away  from  camp  to  find  it. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  201 

I  climbed  into  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke's 
wagon  to  tell  her  good-bye,  kissed  little  An- 
nie as  she  was  sweetly  sleeping.  Mrs.  H. 
seemed  sorry  to  have  us  go.  I  met  Dr. 
Fletcher  as  I  was  leaving  Mrs.  Hardin- 
brooke  and  asked  about  Neelie. 

"She  is  very  low,  indeed.  Of  course, 
while  there  is  life  we  may  hope;  but  if  she 
lives  they  will  have  to  stay  here  a  week  or 
ten  days." 

I  did  not  tell  him  we  were  leaving,  but 
said  good  morning,  and  went  to  find  Lyde. 
She  was  worried  and  anxious  about  Milt. 
He  has  been  staying  behind  the  train  to  drive 
lame  oxen  almost  every  day  since  he  has 
been  well  enough.  He  is  usually  in  camp  by 
10  p.  M.  Last  night  he  did  not  come.  She 
said,  "Brother  Joe  is  quite  sick,  too.  I  won- 
der what  will  happen  next  ?" 

"Oh,  Lyde,  no  very  serious  calamity  has 
happened  to  you  or  yours,  nor  me  or  mine. 
Let  us  not  borrow  trouble,  but  hope  for  the 
best.    Milt  will  be  here  in  a  little  while.    I 


202  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

know  he  is  able  to  take  care  of  himself,  and 
he  is  going  to  do  it." 

WE  LEAVE  THE  TRAIN. 

The  wagons  had  started,  so  I  mounted 
Dick  and  was  off.  As  I  came  into  the  road 
I  looked  back,  and  saw  Milt  coming  in  sight, 
driving  his  lame  oxen.  I  left  the  road  once 
more  and  went  to  Frasier's  grave.  His  son 
has  set  it  with  prickly  pears,  so  closely  that 
it  will  make  a  pretty  mound  if  it  grows,  and 
will  be  a  protection  from  wolves,  unless  their 
hides  are  thick  and  tough.  Poor  boy,  he 
must  have  been  seriously  scratched  while 
transplanting  the  prickly  things,  but  perhaps 
it  was  a  relief  to  his  mental  suffering,  to  bear 
physical  pain  while  trying  to  do  a  last  some- 
thing for  his  poor  father. 

I  spent  a  dreary  morning.  I  feel  the 
parting  with  our  friends  so  distressingly.  It 
is  not  likely  we  will  meet  again  in  this  life. 
I  think  Sim  is  feeling  blue  over  it,  too. 

We  met  a  squad  of  soldiers  from  Green 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  203 

River  going  to  arrest  Hosstetter,  and  take 
him  to  P'ort  Bridger  for  trial.  They  say  his 
trial  was  not  legal.  He  and  all  the  wit- 
nesses will  have  to  go  by  the  way  of  Fort 
Bridger,  and  will  perhaps  be  detained  for 
some  time.  I  do  hope  for  his  own  and  his 
family's  sake  he  will  be  cleared.  The  upper 
road  from  Rock  Springs  goes  by  the  way  of 
Fort  Bridger,  I  think,  for  the  soldiers  spoke 
as  if  it  was  not  on  this  road. 

We  arrived  at  Green  River  about  three 
o'clock.  The  river  is  about  as  wide,  deep 
and  swift  as  the  North  Platte,  yet  I  have  not 
dreaded  any  of  the  rivers  we  have  crossed 
as  I  did  dread  to  ford  this  one.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  there  are  so  few  of  us,  for  in 
numbers  there  is  a  feeling  of  security,  even 
in  crossing  deep  and  dangerous  streams. 
We  crossed  without  accident  or  loss,  and  are 
camping  on  the  west  bank  of  Green  River. 
When  we  first  came  to  the  river,  one  of  Mr. 
Curry's  boys  exclaimed: 

"Well,  this  river  is  named  right.    If  I  had 


204  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

been  going  to  name  it,  I  believe  I  would 
have  named  it  Green  River,  too,  for  it  is 
green." 

The  water  is  very  clear,  yet  the  river  has  a 
bluish-green  appearance.  I  do  not  under- 
stand why. 

There  are  several  corrals  along  the  river, 
but  the  people  are  strangers,  so  we  feel  very 
much  alone.  There  is  a  station  here  and 
soldiers'  tents  within  sight.  We  are  camp- 
ing on  blue  grass,  with  the  mountains  very 
close.  They  are  the  highest  I  have  seen.  I 
would  like  to  climb  to  the  top,  but  mother 
says  there  are  too  many  soldiers  and  strang- 
ers around. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  a  little  way 
from  our  camp,  there  is  a  graveyard  with 
about  a  dozen  graves.  It  is  a  beautiful  spot, 
with  the  mountain  for  an  enduring  monu- 
ment. Several  of  the  graves  have  been  made 
this  year,  with  names  and  dates  quite  dis- 
tinct on  the  plain  pine  headboards.  Others 
are  entirely  worn  or  washed  off  by  the  re- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  205 

lentless  hand  of  time  and  storm.  It  seems 
that  Bitter  Creek  was  too  much  for  the  weak 
or  frail  constitutions.  Like  Moses,  they 
were  permitted  to  look  upon  the  better  land 
before  they  died. 

Monday,  August  7. 

The  soldiers  brought  Hosstetter  here  in 
the  night,  and  I  suppose  the  witnesses  came 
too.  I  wanted  to  go  to  the  station  to  see  if 
I  could  hear  anything  from  Neelie,  and  the 
rest  of  the  sick  folks,  but  mother  did  not 
want  me  to  go  where  there  are  so  many 
soldiers,  so  I  did  not  go.  We  started  very 
early  this  morning  and  have  driven  about 
twenty  miles.  Are  camping  on  Black  Fork, 
where  the  horses  and  cattle  are  just  wading 
in  fine  pasture  right  around  camp. 

We  ascended  a  mountain  this  morning 
that  was  seven  miles  from  base  to  summit, 
the  way  the  road  is.  We  had  toilsome  climb- 
ing, and  I  guess  the  teams  found  it  a  hard 
road  to  travel  before  we  reached  the  top.    I 


2o6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

came  on  in  advance  of  the  wagons,  some- 
times riding  and  sometimes  leading  Dick 
where  it  was  very  steep,  and  had  time  to  en- 
joy the  magnificent  scenery  that  lay  spread 
out  on  all  sides.  The  snowy  range  could  be 
seen  in  the  distance,  glittering  in  the  morn- 
ing sunshine.  The  wild  currants  are  here  in 
abundance.  I  am  going  fishing  with  the 
boys,  so  I  must  be  off. 

WILD   CURRANTS   GALORE. 

Tuesday,  August  8. 

We  caught  fish  enough  for  breakfast  last 
evening,  and  gathered  currants  enough  for 
sauce,  but  I  spoilt  the  sauce  by  putting  the 
sugar  in,  when  I  put  them  on  to  cook,  they 
hardened  and  were  not  fit  to  eat.  I  have 
been  experimenting  to-day  and  have  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  nice  cobbler. 

I  did  not  sweeten  at  all  before  baking,  but 
made  the  sauce  sweet  enough  to  sweeten  all. 
I  also  made  a  fine  sauce  by  cooking  the  cur- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  207 

rants  only  a  very  few  minutes,  and  putting 
in  the  sugar  after  they  were  cooked.  We 
will  have  currant  dumplings  for  dinner  to- 
morrow. We  have  picked  a  lot,  enough  to 
make  sauce  and  pies  and  other  good  things 
for  a  week.  The  currants  are  a  beautiful 
fruit,  and  some  are  as  large  as  small  cher- 
ries. We  are  waiting  at  Camp  Plentiful,  in 
the  hope  that  some  of  the  wagons  from  the 
train  will  drive  in  before  night. 

There  are  three  wigwams  within  sight  of 
our  camp.  Sim  and  Hillhouse  went  hunting 
to-day.  On  their  way  back  they  stopped  at 
the  wigwams  and  found  them  occupied  by 
white  men  with  squaws  for  wives.    Ugh ! 

Wednesday,  August  9. 
Somehow  I  felt  a  little  suspicious  of  those 
white  men  living  with  squaws,  and  feared 
some  of  our  horses  might  be  missing  this 
morning,  but  my  suspicions  were  groundless. 
Our  horses  and  cattle  were  all  here,  well  fed 
and  ready  for  a  long  drive.     We  were  off 


2o8  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

bright  and  early,  without  seeing  any  one 
from  the  train. 

We  passed  the  Bridger  Road,  where  our 
friends  going  to  California  will  turn  off,  so 
we  are  not  likely  to  see  them  again,  perhaps 
for  years,  perhaps  never  again  in  this  life. 

There  is  a  very  fine  ranch  at  the  junction 
of  the  roads,  where  we  stopped  at  noon.  Two 
men  from  this  ranch  visited  our  camp  this 
evening.  They  were  rather  fine  looking, 
genteel  in  appearance,  dressed  in  civilization 
style,  but  for  some  unexplainable  reason,  I 
was  afraid  of  them.  They  tried  to  be  very 
cordial  and  polite.  They  engaged  Sim  in 
conversation,  and  plied  him  with  pertinent 
questions,  such  as: 

**Who  owns  those  big  American  mares  ?" 
(referring  to  our  horse  team). 

"They  are  the  property  of  a  widow." 

"Whose  bay  pony  is  that?" 

"It  belongs  to  the  widow's  daughter." 

"Who  is  the  owner  of  that  chestnut  sor- 
rel?" 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  209 

"Mr.  Curry,  father  of  those  boys  playing 
over  there." 

They  asked  many  more  questions.  Where 
we  came  from?  Where  we  are  going? 
What  we  expect  to  do,  etc. 

Sim  answered  them  patiently  and  civilly. 
He  thinks  they  are  horse  thieves,  but  hopes 
they  will  not  be  mean  enough  to  steal  from 
a  widow.  As  if  horse  thieves  care  who  they 
steal  from.  No  doubt,  their  ranch  is  stocked 
with  stolen  horses  and  cattle,  for  they  have 
things  as  they  choose  away  out  here,  where 
there  is  no  law,  except  the  law  of  might. 

God's  Word  says,  "As  the  partridge  sit- 
teth  on  eggs,  and  hatcheth  them  not;  so  he 
that  getteth  riches,  and  not  by  right,  shall 
leave  them  in  the  midst  of  his  days,  and  at 
his  end  shall  be  a  fool"  (Jer.  17:  11). 

We  are  camping  on  Ham's  Fork,  where 
the  currants  and  fish  are  very  plentiful,  and 
the  pasture  very  fine.  We  had  our  currant 
dumplings  for  dinner.  They  were  lovely. 
No  one  can  imagine  how  we  appreciate  this 


210  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

fruit  by  the  wayside,  except  those  who  have 
been  deprived  of  the  strawberries,  raspber- 
ries, blackberries  and  cherries,  each  in  their 
season,  and  confined  to  the  sameness  and 
tameness  of  diet,  which  people  making  this 
trip  are  necessarily  confined  to.  This  fruit 
would  seem  inferior  among  other  cultivated 
fruits,  but  where  it  is,  it  seems  a  luxury  pro- 
vided for  our  benefit. 

Thursday,  August  lo. 
We  went  fishing  at  noon.  It  is  such  fun 
to  fish  in  water  so  clear  that  we  can  see 
the  fish  biting  at  the  hook.  They  do  not 
seem  at  all  afraid,  and  sometimes  there  will 
be  two,  three,  or  four  grabbing  at  the  hook 
at  the  same  time.  Such  shoving,  pushing 
and  crowding  as  they  all  try  to  get  the  tempt- 
ing bait.  How  eager  and  unsuspecting  they 
are.  Soon  the  strongest  or  fleetest,  or  rather 
the  most  unfortunate  one  seizes  it.  Away 
goes  bait,  hook  and  all,  and  then  out  comes 
a  fish  on  dry  land.     I  give  a  shiver  of  pity 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  211 

for  the  unlucky  fish,  as  I  call  to  the  boys: 
**I  have  another." 

It  does  seem  such  a  cruel  thing  to  take 
them  from  their  pleasant  home  in  the  deep, 
clear,  cool  water.  But  then,  "Life  is  sus- 
tained by  death."  And  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  lives  are  taken  daily  to  nourish 
and  sustain  human  life.  We  are  in  a  beau- 
tiful place,  where  all  things  necessary  for 
camping  are  plentiful,  and  we  are  all  alone, 
no  corral  within  sight ;  the  first  time  we  have 
been  entirely  alone. 

Friday,  August  11. 
One  or  other  of  the  boys  stood  guard  last 
night.  It  proved  an  unnecessary  precaution. 
There  was  no  disturbance  either  from 
horse  thieves,  Indians,  or  wild  beasts.  We 
are  living  fine  since  we  crossed  Green  River. 
We  have  fresh  fish  for  breakfast  and  some- 
times for  dinner.  Wild  game  of  some  kind 
for  dinner,  with  currant  pudding,  cobbler,  or 
dumplings,  with  rich  cream  for  dessert.    We 


212  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

may  possibly  go  hungry  next  Winter  at  Vir- 
ginia City,  but  there  is  no  danger  of  starving 
while  we  stay  on  Ham's  Fork. 

The  weather  is  perfect.  I  have  been  rid- 
ing my  pony  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
sometimes  one  of  Mr.  Curry's  little  boys 
with  me,  and  sometimes  alone.  I  have  en- 
joyed the  delightful  atmosphere — it  seems 
so  pure  and  invigorating;  the  scenery  is 
beautiful,  and  it  has  been  a  glorious  day. 

MR.  curry's  horse  STOLEN. 

Saturday,  August  12. 
It  was  considered  unnecessary  for  any  one 
to  stand  guard  last  night,  as  we  had  come 
two  days'  travel  from  where  the  suspicious 
characters  live.  So  all  went  to  bed,  retired 
early,  slept  soundly,  and  even  neglected  to 
put  Caesar's  rug  in  its  usual  place — under 
our  wagon— so  he  went  into  the  tent  with 
Mr.  Curry's  boys  to  find  a  comfortable  bed, 
leaving  the  camp  entirely  unguarded.  One  of 
our  big  horses  wears  a  bell.    I  was  awakened 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  213 

in  the  night  by  hearing  an  unusual  ratthng, 
and  the  horses  came  galloping  up  to  the 
wagons.  Dick  whinnied.  I  raised  the 
wagon  cover  and  spoke  to  him,  and  he  com- 
menced cropping  the  grass.  The  other  horses 
were  in  sight,  but  not  eating.  They  seemed 
frightened,  and  just  then  Caesar  came  tear- 
ing out  of  the  tent  and  ran  toward  the  road 
barking  fiercely.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly.  I  looked  out  at  the  back  of  the 
wagon,  but  could  not  discover  anything 
wrong,  but  evidently  there  was  something 
wrong,  for  Mr.  Curry's  horse  was  gone  this 
morning. 

Mr.  Curry,  Sim  and  Hillhouse  have  been 
hunting  the  horse  all  day,  but  without  suc- 
cess, except  to  find  certain  evidence  that  it 
had  been  stolen.  They  found  the  camp-fire, 
where  three  horses  had  been  tied  for  some 
time.  They  then  found  where  four  horses 
had  traveled,  so  they  concluded  there  were 
three  men  after  the  horses. 

The  bovs  think  it  was  the  merest  accident 


214  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

that  our  horses  are  not  gone  too,  but  I  be- 
lieve it  was  providential  care  that  kept  them 
for  us.  Mr.  Curry  is  anxious  to  stay  and  try 
to  recover  his  horse.  I  believe,  as  the  boys 
do,  that  it  will  be  a  waste  of  effort,  for  if 
men  are  mean  enough  to  steal  a  horse  they 
will  manage  to  keep  it.  But  we  do  not  like 
to  offer  too  many  objections,  as  it  might 
seem  like  selfishness  on  our  part,  as  we  are 
not  the  losers. 

Oh,  dear,  why  don't  people  be  good,  and 
do  as  they  would  be  done  by?  How  much 
happier  this  world  would  be  if  there  were  no 
thieves  nor  wicked  people  in  it.  I  know 
it  is  hard  for  Mr.  Curry  to  give  up  his  fine 
horse  without  making  an  effort  to  get  it 
back.  Yet  I  feel  sure  he  will  not  get  it.  For 
if  he  found  it  he  could  not  force  the  thieves 
to  give  it  to  him. 

ANXIOUSLY    WAITING   AT    HAm's    FORK. 

Sunday,  August  13. 
It  was  decided  this  morning  that  Hill- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  215 

house,  Sim  and  Mr.  Curry  would  go  in  pur- 
suit of  the  horse  thieves.  Sim  is  just  recov- 
ering from  a  severe  sickness,  and  is  not  able 
to  go  on  such  a  trip,  but  he  positively  refused 
to  stay  in  camp  and  let  Hillhouse  and  Mr. 
Curry  go  without  him.  I  believe  it  will 
prove  a  wild  goose  chase,  so  mother  and  I 
exacted  a  promise  from  Hillhouse  that  he 
will  not  stay  away  to-night.  We  are  look- 
ing for  him.  It  is  getting  dark.  Surely 
they  will  not  leave  us  here  in  this  wilderness 
with  only  two  boys  and  Caesar  for  protec- 
tion. If  we  are  left  alone,  I  shall  take  my 
turn,  with  Winthrop  and  Alex.  Curry  stand- 
ing guard  in  camp.  Sim  rode  Dick  this 
morning,  the  others  walked.  What  they  ex- 
pect to  do  if  they  find  the  thieves  (which 
they  are  not  likely  to  do)  I  do  not  know. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kennedy,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bower,  Nellie  and  Alton,  and  Mr.  Grier's 
teams  passed  here  to-day.  They  left  the 
train  the  next  morning  after  we  did.  The 
train  had  not  started  then.    They  said  Neelie 


2i6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

was  about  as  when  we  left,  and  Mrs.  Har- 
dinbrooke  was  no  worse. 

Monday,  August  14. 

Hillhouse  came  in  about  an  hour  after 
dark.  He  was  very  tired  and  hungry;  had 
walked  since  early  morning  until  he  started 
back  at  three  o'clock.  He  tried  to  prevail 
upon  Sim  to  return,  and  let  him  go  on  with 
Mr.  Curry  if  he  must  go.  But  Sim  would 
not  listen  to  such  a  proposition,  although  he 
is  still  weak  from  his  late  sickness.  Mr. 
Curry  thinks  he  will  find  his  horse  at  the 
ranch  near  the  junction,  although  the  trail 
they  were  following  led  away  from,  instead 
of  toward  it.  If  he  finds  it,  he  will  go  back 
to  the  train  and  get  the  men  to  help  him  get 
it  either  by  fair  means  or  by  force. 

He  then  proposed  that  they  keep  Dick,  but 
they  said  he  would  not  reach  camp  before 
midnight  on  foot  and  he  might  lose  his  way, 
but  Dick  would  take  him  the  shortest  route 
if  he  w^ould  just  let  him  go  his  own  way. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  217 

which  he  did,  and  he  brought  him  safe  about 
an  hour  after  dark. 

I  am  so  sorry  for  Mrs.  Curry.  She  tries 
to  be  brave  for  her  children's  sake,  but  any 
one  can  see  she  suffers,  and  Alex  says  she 
does  not  eat  at  all,  just  takes  a  cup  of  tea 
once  in  a  while. 

Tuesday,  August  15. 

Another  day  has  come  and  gone,  and  the 
wanderers  have  not  returned.  Hillhouse 
said  he  did  not  expect  them  to-day,  but 
would  look  for  them  to-morrow,  for  they 
will  not  have  anything  to  eat  after  to-day, 
and  will  be  obliged  to  leave  the  foot  hills  and 
come  to  the  road,  whether  they  find  the  horse 
or  not,  to  get  something  to  eat. 

A  party  of  emigrants  stopped  near  us  to- 
day at  noon,  and  one  of  the  men  came  to  our 
camp.  We,  of  course,  asked  if  they  had 
seen  the  Hardinbrooke  train.  They  passed 
the  train  Sunday.  They  were  still  where  we 
left  them  at  the  west  end  of  Bitter  Creek. 
He  saw  and  talked  to  the  captain,  who  told 


2i8  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

him  to  tell  us,  if  he  caught  up  with  us,  "The 
sick  folks  are  all  better,  and  they  expect  to 
come  to  Green  River  Monday."  They  may 
catch  up  with  us  yet. 

I  do  not  know  what  we  would  do  with 
ourselves  if  it  were  not  for  the  currants.  We 
are  making  jelly,  and  as  it  takes  lots  of  cur- 
rants to  make  a  little  jelly,  we  have  not  suf- 
fered from  enforced  idleness,  with  our  sus- 
pense and  anxiety. 

Wednesday,  August  i6. 

There  are  three  varieties  of  currants  here. 
The  yellow  ones  are  not  very  plentiful. 
They  are  the  largest  and  best.  I  have  made 
a  pickle  jar  full  of  the  loveliest  jelly.  It  is 
the  color  of  gold  and  as  clear  as  crystal. 
The  red  currants  are  very  plentiful  and  more 
like  the  tame  currants,  though  they  do  not 
yield  as  much  juice. 

We  gather  the  bushes  by  the  armful,  and 
carry  them  to  camp,  and  sitting  near  each 
other,  we  pick  off  the  currants. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  219 

Though  we  do  not  talk  much,  we  like  to 
be  near  each  other.  Another  day  and  they 
have  not  come,  and  another  night  of  anxiety 
before  us. 


THE    WANDERERS     RETURN. 

Thursday,  August  17. 

I  was  awakened  very  early  this  morning, 
as  soon  as  it  was  light,  by  hearing  Hillhouse 
bustling  about  making  a  fire  in  the  stove,  as 
if  in  a  hurry  for  his  breakfast.  I  dressed  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  hastened  out  to  see 
what  it  meant — for  it  was  only  four  o'clock. 
When  I  asked  for  an  explanation,  he  said : 

*T  am  going  to  hunt  those  men.  I  can't 
stand  this  any  longer.  I  have  laid  awake 
almost  all  night  thinking  about  them." 

"What  can  you  do?  You  will  be  lost 
yourself." 

*'No  danger  of  that.  I  will  go  back  on  the 
road  as  far  as  Green  River,  get  some  of  the 


220  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

soldiers  and  some  of  the  boys  that  know 
them,  and  we  will  hunt  until  we  find  them,  or 
know  what  has  become  of  them.  I  may  meet 
them  on  the.  road  and  return  to-night,  but  I 
will  not  come  until  I  bring  them  with  me,  or 
know  their  fate." 

I  could  not  object  to  his  going,  but  oh, 
how  my  heart  sank  at  the  thought. 

We  made  all  haste  to  get  breakfast,  and 
Hillhouse  was  all  ready  to  start  when  Mrs. 
Curry  and  the  boys  came  out.  Mrs.  Curry 
seemed  both  glad  and  sorry  he  was  going, 
said  she  hardly  knew  which.  I  had  supplied 
him  with  pencil  and  paper,  and  he  promised 
to  send  us  word  every  opportunity.  He 
mounted  Dick  and  rode  away  without  saying 
good-bye. 

He  had  gone  almost  out  of  sight.  One 
moment  more  and  a  bend  in  the  road  would 
hide  him  from  our  view.  When,  lo,  there  is 
a  gun  fired  not  far  oflf. 

My  thought  was  Indians,  and  I  looked  to 
see  if  Hillhouse  was  hurt.    He  was  waving 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  221 

his  hat  furiously  and  came  tearing  back  to 
camp.    Then  I  heard  Mrs.  Curry  cry  out : 

"Oh,  it  is  my  husband."  And  she  dropped 
in  a  heap  on  the  ground,  and  cried  out  loud. 

They  were  plainly  visible  by  that  time, 
coming  over  the  hill  and  down  to  the  creek 
and  through  it,  before  any  one  could  show 
them  where  they  could  cross  without  getting 
wet. 

All  was  excitement  for  a  while.  The 
meeting  between  Mr.  Curry  and  his  family 
was  very  touching,  indeed.  I  think  Mrs. 
Curry  had  about  lost  all  hope  of  ever  seeing 
him  again. 

How  famished  and  worn  out  they  did 
seem  to  be.  Sim  was  utterly  exhausted.  I 
do  not  believe  he  could  have  gone  another 
half  mile.  We  gave  Sim  a  bowl  of  bread 
and  milk,  and  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then  the 
boys  helped  him  to  bed  in  our  wagon,  be- 
cause it  is  on  springs  and  we  expected 
to  start  before  he  waked.  Within  one  hour 
after  they  reached  camp  Sim  was  sleeping 


222  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  sleep  of  exhaustion.  We  did  not  ask  any 
questions,  nor  let  him  talk  at  all,  before  he 
went  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  Curry  prepared  the  best  breakfast 
the  camp  could  afford  for  her  husband,  and 
as  the  family  had  not  breakfasted,  they  all 
sat  down  together.  She  came  for  Sim  to 
take  breakfast  with  them,  but  he  was  sound 
asleep,  and  I  would  not  have  had  him  awak- 
ened for  the  best  breakfast  ever  prepared. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Curry  can  stand  eating  such  a 
meal  after  starving  so  long,  but  I  believe  it 
would  kill  Sim  in  his  weak  condition,  for  he 
is  not  fully  recovered  from  his  recent  ill- 
ness. 

We  made  all  haste  to  start  once  more,  and 
by  eight  o'clock  were  on  the  way.  We  had 
left  the  camp  where  we  spent  five  such 
anxious,  distressful  days.  Sim  did  not 
awaken  until  after  ten  o'clock.  We  gave 
him  some  fish  and  bread  and  milk,  which 
we  had  ready  for  him.  When  he  had  eaten, 
he  lay  in  bed  and  told  mother  and  I  the  fol- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  223 

lowing  narrative  of  what  had  befallen  them 
since  they  left  camp: 

sim's  story  of  their  wanderings. 

"After  Hill  left  us  that  first  afternoon,  we 
walked  on  as  fast  as  we  could,  as  long  as  we 
could  follow  the  trail.  Then  made  a  fire, 
ate  some  supper  without  anything  to  drink. 
We  had  not  seen  water  since  noon. 

"We  rolled  up  in  our  blankets  and  lay 
down  with  our  feet  to  the  fire  and  tried  to 
sleep.  I  am  sure  I  did  not  sleep  an  hour,  I 
was  so  tired  and  nervous.  As  soon  as  it  was 
light  enough  to  see,  we  were  up  and  ate  a 
dry  breakfast,  for  we  could  find  no  water  in 
the  vicinity.  We  were  soon  following  the 
trail.  Before  night  we  had  eaten  all  our 
grub,  and  found  no  water.  Oh,  what  would 
I  have  given  for  a  cup  of  cold  water?  It 
seemed  that  we  must  find  water  or  perish. 
We  dragged  on  as  long  as  we  could  see; 
then  lay  down  and  slept  from  exhaustion. 
When  we  awoke  it  was  light. 


224  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"I  was  SO  weak  that  Mr.  Curry  had  to 
help  me  to  get  on  my  feet.  I  declared  I  could 
go  no  further.  Mr.  Curry  prevailed  on  me 
to  try,  for  we  must  be  near  Green  River.  I 
made  a  desperate  effort,  and  dragged  on  for 
half  a  mile  perhaps,  Mr.  Curry  carrying  my 
blanket,  when  I  positively  could  go  no 
further,  and  told  Mr.  Curry  to  go  on  and 
leave  me  and  try  to  save  himself.  Mr. 
Curry  was  desperate.  He  said :  'I  must  find 
something  to  eat.'  He  covered  me  with  the 
blankets  and  went  to  look  for  some  kind  of 
game. 

**When  he  had  gone  about  a  hundred 
yards  he  saw  a  bird  about  the  size  of  a  par- 
tridge sitting  on  a  limb  ready  to  be  shot.  He 
took  careful  aim  and  shot  its  head  off.  He 
hastened  back  to  where  I  lay,  made  a  fire, 
skinned  the  bird,  and  held  it  on  a  sharpened 
stick  before  the  fire  and  roasted  it  thorough- 
ly. I  would  have  eaten  it  when  half  done, 
but  Mr.  Curry  would  not  let  me  have  it  until 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  225 

well  cooked,  for  fear  it  would  make  me 
sick. 

"I  never  tasted  fowl  that  tasted  so  good  as 
that  did,  although  we  ate  it  without  salt. 
After  eating  I  felt  better,  and  made  another 
effort  to  move  on.  We  had  gone  only  a  little 
way  when  Mr.  Curry  stopped,  listened  a 
moment,  and  exclaimed:  'There,  hear  the 
rushing  of  the  river?' 

"I  could  not  hear  it  at  first,  but  soon  I 
heard  the  glad  sound  too.  It  gave  us  cour- 
age, and  with  renewed  energy  we  pushed  on, 
and  before  eleven  o'clock  we  reached  the 
river.  We  slacked  our  thirst,  cautiously,  at 
first,  then  had  a  bath  and  were  refreshed. 

"While  I  rested  on  the  bank,  Mr.  Curry 
looked  up  and  down  the  river  for  the  trail, 
which  had  gone  into  the  river.  He  did  not 
find  it.  W^e  then  started  for  the  road,  which 
we  came  into  in  about  an  hour,  just  below 
the  ranch  at  the  junction. 

"A  party  of  emigrants  had  stopped  for 
noon,  who  gladly  gave  food  and  refreshment 


2si^  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

to  us  weary  wanderers.  While  I  was  rest- 
ing, Mr.  Curry  investigated  the  ranch, 
looked  among  the  horses  in  the  pasture, 
peeped  in  stables,  but  did  not  find  his  horse.* 

"After  Mr.  Curry  had  given  up  getting 
his  horse  he  was  all  eagerness  to  get  back  to 
his  family,  but  considering  how  very  weak  I 
was,  he  consented  to  stay  with  the  kind  peo- 
ple we  had  fallen  in  with  until  morning,  so 
we  traveled  with  them,  and  I  rested  in  a 
wagon  all  afternoon. 

"At  the  first  peep  of  dawn  Mr.  Curry  was 
up  and  awakened  me.  I  felt  refreshed  and 
ready  for  our  early  walk.  Mr.  Curry  ex- 
plored the  grub-box,  found  some  bread  and 
meat,  which  he  appropriated,  leaving  green- 
backs to  pay  for  our  entertainment. 

"We  expected  to  reach  camp  by  ten 
o'clock  p.  M.^  but  I  gave  completely  out,  and 

♦Those  men  at  the  junction  did  steal  Mr.  Curry's 
horse.  The  men  in  the  Hardinbrooke  train  saw 
them  in  their  corral,  and  asked,  "Where  did  you  get 
that  horse?'*  They  answered,  "From  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Curry.      Paid  $150  for  him." 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  227 

we  were  obliged  to  lie  down  and  rest  when 
about  five  miles  from  camp.  I  slept  until 
awakened  this  morning  before  it  was  light  by 
Mr.  Curry,  who  was  so  anxious  to  be  on  the 
way  I  wondered  that  he  let  me  sleep  so  long. 

"We  came  over  the  foot-hills,  instead  of 
by  the  road,  and  saved  about  a  mile  in  dis- 
tance. We  saw  Hill  riding  away  from  camp 
and  felt  sure  he  was  starting  to  try  and  find 
us.  Mr.  Curry  fired  his  gun  to  attract  his 
attention,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

He  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep  again, 
and  slept  until  we  stopped  for  noon.  We 
made  a  long  drive  to-day  and  are  camping 
at  the  foot  of  Bear  River  mountain. 

We  had  a  hard  rain  and  hail  storm  this  af- 
ternoon. It  was  very  violent  while  it  lasted, 
and  we  halted  by  the  roadside  until  it  was 
over.    It  was  over  in  half  an  hour. 

Mr.  Curry  has  suffered  with  a  severe 
headache  and  high  fever  all  day,  the  result 
of  that  hearty  breakfast  this  morning  after 
fasting  so  long. 


228  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

BEAR    RIVER    MOUNTAIN. 

Friday,  at  noon,  August  i8. 

I  am  on  the  summit  of  Bear  River  Moun- 
tain, in  the  border  of  a  beautiful  grove  of 
pine  and  quaking-asp,  near  a  spring  of  the 
most  deHcious  ice-cold  water.  I  must  be 
some  miles  ahead  of  the  wagons  that  I  left 
toiling  up  the  steep  mountain  side.  Yet  I 
do  not  feel  that  I  am  alone.  Oh,  no.  I  feel 
that  God  is  here  in  his  might,  majesty, 
power  and  glory.  I  feel  His  nearness  now, 
and  as  I  gaze  from  these  dizzy  heights  upon 
the  country  spread  out  beneath  my  feet,  I  am 
lost  in  admiration,  the  scene  is  so  grand,  so 
magnificent,  that  I  forget  my  own  vanity 
and  nothingness.  I  feel  that  I  am  standing 
upon  an  altar  raised  by  Nature's  grateful 
hand  up  to  Nature's  God,  and  that  I  could 
offer  myself  a  willing  sacrifice. 

This  is  emphatically  one  of  the  high  and 
sacred  spots  of  earth.  How  manifold,  how 
wonderful  are  the  works  of  Nature :  Every- 
where something  worthy  of  our  highest  ad- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  229 

miration  is  presented  to  view;  everywhere 
do  we  see  the  manifestation  of  an  invisible 
and  omnipotent  Creator.  The  terrific  storm, 
the  broad  prairies,  the  majestic  forest,  excite 
within  our  bosoms  emotions  of  awe  and  ad- 
miration, yet  there  are  no  places  on  earth 
that  I  have  seen  which  have  a  tendency  to 
inspire  me  with  such  tender  feelings,  such 
elevated,  pure,  holy  thoughts  as  mountains. 

Oh,  it  seems  that  one  could  never  sin,  or 
have  an  evil  thought,  in  such  a  place  as  this. 
Behold  the  mountains  as  they  stand  upon 
their  broad  bases,  contemplate  them  as  they 
rear  their  snowy  tops  in  awful,  majestic 
grandeur  above  the  clouds,  view  them  as 
you  will,  and  they  ever  present  the  same  un- 
tiring pleasure  to  the  mind. 

Men  and  women  will  travel  thousands  of 
miles  and  make  the  greatest  exertion  to 
climb  the  rugged  steeps  of  mountains,  to  en- 
joy for  one  short  hour  the  charming  pros- 
pect. I  have  wondered  at  this  sometimes,  as 
I  have  read  of  their  hazardous  exploits  in 


230  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

trying  to  obtain  a  point  where  they  could 
have  the  finest  view,  but  I  never  shall  again. 

A  country  destitute  of  mountains  may  be 
fertile  and  productive  of  all  that  conduces 
to  human  happiness,  yet  it  will  lack  the  es- 
sential of  attractive  moral  grandeur. 

It  may  enchant  the  imagination  for  a  mo- 
ment to  look  over  prairies  and  plains  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach,  still  such  a  view  is 
tedious  and  monotonous.  It  can  in  no  wise 
produce  that  rapturing  delight,  that  pleasing 
variety  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  of  land- 
scape scenery  which  mountains  afford. 

Let  those  whose  tastes  are  on  a  level  with 
the  ground  they  tread  feel  proud  of  and  ad- 
mire their  prairie  fields,  but  give  to  me  a 
mountain  home. 

The  wagons  are  almost  at  the  top,  and  as 
mother  has  driven  up  the  steep  ascent,  I  will 
drive  down  the  western  slope,  and  have 
mother  ride  Dick,  and  enjoy  the  delight- 
some scenery  as  we  descend  the  mountain- 
side, which  looks  very  steep  from  here. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  231 

We  were  all  the  evening  crossing  the 
mountain,  and  it  was  a  hard  drive.  We 
are  camping  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
near  a  spring  in  Bear  River  Valley,  within 
calling  distance  of  the  Chilicothe  train. 

We  passed  two  freight  wagons  on  the 
mountain-side  that  were  rather  badly 
smashed  up.  One  had  upset,  and  crackers  in 
a  broken-up  condition,  and  other  debris  from 
family  groceries  were  scattered  about. 

We  learned  that  the  wagons  are  Dr. 
Yager's,  and  he  has  gone  somewhere  to  get 
the  wheels  mended.  We  are  quite  disap- 
pointed that  he  is  away,  for  Sim  is  not  so 
well  as  he  was  yesterday,  has  had  fever  and 
been  flighty  and  in  a  stupor  this  afternoon. 
He  needs  medical  treatment,  and  we  hoped 
to  have  Dr.  Yager  prescribe  for  him. 

We  passed  eight  graves  on  the  mountain, 
one  a  young  lady  twenty  years  old  from 
Monroe  County,  Missouri.  A  beautiful 
resting  place  for  the  dead.  Mrs.  Yager  is 
quite  sick,   and   seems   sadly   disheartened. 


232  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Thinks  crossing  the  plains  and  mountains  in 
a  wagon  (they  have  a  very  comfortable  car- 
riage) is  a  sad,  discouraging,  never-to-be- 
repeated  experiment.  I  am  sorry  she  could 
not  enjoy  the  fine  prospect  on  the  mountain- 
top,  for  she  is  a  lady  who  would  appreciate 
such  grandeur  to  the  fullest  under  favorable 
circumstances. 

We  reached  level  ground  without  acci- 
dent, and  were  glad  to  come  up  with  friends 
we  had  met  before  on  the  road. 

WE   MEET   CAPTAIN    HARDINBROOKE's 
BROTHER. 

Saturday,  August  19. 

We  left  the  Chilicothe  train  this  morning. 
As  it  will  take  all  day  to  get  the  wagons 
mended,  they  cannot  start  to-day.  We  came 
on  to  Bear  River,  reached  here  a  little  after 
noon,  and  will  stay  here  until  to-morrow. 

We  crossed  a  toll  bridge  on  Smith's  Fork, 
and  met  Captain  Hardinbrooke^s  brother  at 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  233 

the  bridge.  He  is  going  to  meet  the  train. 
He  did  not  know  of  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke's 
illness.  He  asked  very  especially  and  with 
some  confusion,  *'Is  Miss  Walker  well?'* 

Ah,  I  think  I  know  who  he  is  going  to 
meet,  and  understand  some  things  that  have 
not  been  very  clear  to  me  before.  "Ah,  ha, 
Miss  Lyde,  you  have  guarded  your  secret 
well,  but  see  if  I  have  not  guessed  it  now?" 
Well,  he  is  very  nice  looking,  and  if  he 
makes  as  good  a  husband  as  his  brother,  he 
will  no  doubt  be  worth  coming  to  Montana 
for.  I  wish  you  joy,  and  that  I  may  be  pres- 
ent at  the  wedding  festivities. 

The  boys  have  gone  fishing,  all  but  Sim. 
Poor  boy  he  is  too  sick  again.  I  feel  very 
much  out  of  patience  with  Mr.  Curry,  be- 
cause of  the  tramp  he  led  Sim  when  in  so 
weak  a  condition. 

Sunday,  August  20. 
We  passed  a  grave  this  morning  that  was 
made  yesterday  for  a  young  mother  and  her 


234  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

new-born  babe.  Oh,  how  sad.  With  what 
an  aching  heart  must  that  husband  and 
father  go  on  his  weary  way,  leaving  his 
loved  ones  by  the  roadside. 

We  crossed  another  toll  bridge.  It  seems 
to  me  that  emigrants  are  greatly  imposed 
upon  by  these  men  who  claim  toll.  They 
throw  a  very  poor  excuse  of  a  bridge  across 
a  stream  that  could  be  easily  forded  if  let 
alone,  but  they  spoil  the  crossing  by  digging 
ditches  and  throwing  in  bush  and  timbers 
to  obstruct  the  fording,  then  build  a  cabin, 
close  to  the  bridge,  and  squat  to  make  a  for- 
tune by  extorting  large  toll  from  emigrants, 
who  have  not  the  time  to  stop  and  contend 
for,  their  rights.  It  seems  a  shameful  busi- 
ness. 

While  stopping  at  noon  we  saw  a  com- 
pany of  Indians  coming  down  the  road 
toward  our  wagons.  My  first  sensation  was 
fear,  but  upon  reflection  I  knew  that  is  not 
the  way  they  go  on  the  warpath,  and  by  the 
time  they  reached  camp  I  was  ready  to  say 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  235 

"How,"  and  try  to  talk  to  them.  There  was 
one  that  could  understand  English  and 
talked  quite  well. 

They  are  Bannocks,  the  tribe  that  was 
conquered  in  Idaho  some  years  ago.  Their 
chief  was  with  them.  He  held  a  stiff  neck 
and  tried  to  look  dignified,  and  only  looked 
ridiculous.  They  are  going  on  a  buffalo 
hunt.  It  seems  that  the  whole  tribe  are  go- 
ing, squaws,  pappooses  and  all. 

We  have  been  meeting  them  all  afternoon 
and  are  camping  with  them  all  around  us 
to-night.  They  all  seem  to  want  my  pony. 
I  have  been  asked  at  least  twenty  times  this 
afternoon  to  "Swap."  I  gave  all  the  same 
answer,  "No  swap."  Why,  I  would  not 
give  my  Dick  for  twenty  of  their  ponies. 

The  squaws  and  pappooses  are  around  our 
camp  to-night  begging  biscuit.  They  are 
the  greatest  beggars. I  ever  saw.  I  do  won- 
der if  they  are  hungry  ? 

We  crossed  the  steepest,  straight  up  and 
down  mountain  to-day  that  we  have  crossed 


236  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

yet.  It  seemed  that  the  wagons  would  turn 
a  somersault  as  we  were  making  the  descent. 

Sim  was  too  sick  to  sit  up,  and  he  would 
slide  down  in  a  heap,  bed,  bedclothes  and 
all,  against  the  seat  and  grub-box.  We 
stopped  twice  to  have  him  helped  back  into 
place.  When  we  reached  level  ground  he 
was  all  piled  up  again.  Poor  Sim,  he  is  very 
sick.  I  do  wish  we  could  come  across  a 
physician.  We  have  administered  simple 
remedies,  but  seemingly  without  effect. 

There  is  an  old  lady  ninety-three  years 
old  in  a  train  camping  near  us  to-night.  She 
is  cheerful  as  a  lark,  sings  sometimes,  and  is 
an  incessant  talker. 

She  says  she  is  going  to  Oregon,  where 
she  expects  to  renew  her  youth.  She  looks 
very  old  and  wrinkled  in  the  face,  but  is  very 
active  in  her  movements,  and  not  at  all 
stooped.  The  people  she  is  with  are  not  at 
all  refined  or  cultured,  but  I  do  like  to  talk 
to  the  old  lady,  she  is  so  quaint.  It  makes 
mother  seem  quite  a  young  woman  to  see 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  237 

her  with  an  old  lady  more  than  forty  years 
older  than  she  is.  Why,  she  seems  just  in 
the  prime  of  life,  and  we  had  thought  her 
growing  old. 


MORMON   TOWNS   IN   IDAHO. 

Monday,  August  21. 

Since  we  crossed  the  last  steep  mountain 
the  horse  flies  have  been  very  troublesome, 
the  first  that  have  bothered  us  all  summer. 
I  wonder  if  the  Indians  brought  them  ? 

We  came  through  two  villages  to-day; 
they  are  about  five  miles  apart.  The  first 
Bennington,  the  last  Montpelier — pretty 
large  names  for  such  small  places.  They  are 
Mormon  towns,  although  this  is  Idaho  Ter- 
ritory. The  women  appeared  sad  and  sor- 
rowful enough  to  be  the  wives  of  Mormons. 
I  did  not  see  one  of  them  smile.  Our 
wagons  were  thronged  with  women  and 
children  selling  butter,  eggs,  cheese  and 
vegetables.     They  sold  eggs  at  seventy-five 


238  .      DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

cents  per  dozen,  butter  seventy  cents  per 
pound,  cheese  fifty  cents,  potatoes  twenty- 
five  cents,  and  everything  else  in  proportion. 
The  prices  seemed  enormous  to  us,  but  I  pre- 
sume we  would  have  purchased  if  they  had 
been  double  what  they  were,  for  we  are 
about  starved  for  such  things.  Just  think 
of  spending  a  whole  summer  without  garden 
productions. 

This  is  a  beautiful  valley.  Too  good  to 
be  possessed  by  a  community  of  bigamists. 
What  a  stigma  upon  the  Government  of 
these  United  States  that  whole  communities 
are  allowed  to  live  criminal  lives  with  im- 
punity. I  wonder  how  many  are  paying  the 
penalty  for  bigamy  in  the  penitentiaries  of 
the  United  States?  What  is  crime  in  one 
place,  under  the  same  Government,  I  would 
think,  would  be  crime  in  all  other  places,  if 
the  one  did  happen  to  be  an  isolated  case, 
while  the  other  is  in  large  numbers,  or 
wholesale.  I  suppose  I  am  not  well  enough 
versed  in  law  and  politics  to  understand  why 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  239 

it  is  crime  in  one  place  and  not  in  the  other. 
We  are  camping  eight  miles  from  Mont- 
pelier.    Sim  is  much  better  to-day. 

Tuesday,  August  22. 

Here  we  are  at  Soda  Springs.  I  am  sur- 
prised to  see  so  small  a  town,  for  it  is  quite 
an  old  place  for  this  western  country,  at  least 
ten  or  fifteen  years  old,  and  does  not  have  a 
post-office.  The  town  is  beautifully  situ- 
ated, the  landscape  views  are  glorious.  The 
soda  springs  are  bubbling  up  out  of  the 
ground  in  many  places  in  this  vicinity,  and 
I  expect  there  will  be  a  city  here  some  day. 
There  are  medicinal  springs  here  that  pos- 
sess wonderful  curative  properties,  or  people 
think  they  do.  We  wanted  Sim  to  test  them, 
but  he  said : 

"I  am  getting  well  as  fast  as  possible,  and 
I  don't  care  to  drink  that  nauseous  water.  I 
prefer  the  pure,  unadulterated  snow  water 
from  the  mountain  springs." 

This  is  the  junction  of  the  Oregon  and 


240  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Montana    roads.     There   are    three    camps 
within  sight  of  us. 

Wednesday,  August  23. 

As  we  drove  into  the  road  this  morning 
there  was  a  train  of  eight  wagons  came  into 
line  just  behind  our  wagons,  and  have  trav- 
eled with  us  all  day,  stopping  at  noon  when 
we  did,  and  they  are  camping  near  us  to- 
night, though  we  have  separate  camps. 
They  are  from  Missouri,  and  are  going  to 
Virginia  City.  They  seem  to  think  as  we 
all  came  from  the  same  State,  and  our  des- 
tination is  the  same  place,  that  of  course 
there  is  a  bond  of  fellowship  that  is  mu- 
tual, but  to  be  frank,  I  must  confess  I  do 
not  care  to  go  into  a  strange  place  in  their 
company,  for  I  fear  we  would  be  judged  by 
the  company  we  keep,  and  I  think  it  would 
not  be  very  favorable,  so  we  will  try  to  get 
away  from  them  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  weather  is  perfect.  This  is  a  beauti- 
ful valley.     The  men  say  the  land  is  ex- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  241 

tremely  rich.  We  are  camping  on  the 
Blackfoot.  We  have  not  been  able  to  shake 
our  Missouri  friends. 

WE  MEET  MEN  RETURNING  TO  THE  STATES. 

Thursday,  August  24. 

We  came  to  a  toll  bridge  over  the  Black- 
foot  this  morning,  where  the  toll  was  one 
dollar  per  team,  and  fifty  cents  for  horseback 
riders.  There  had  been  an  excellent  ford 
just  below  the  bridge.  The  men  collecting 
the  toll  had  spoiled  it  by  digging  ditches  on 
both  sides  near  the  bank.  The  water  was 
clear,  and  they  were  plainly  visible.  Hill- 
house  mounted  Dick  to  see  if  we  could  ford 
it.  One  of  the  men  screamed  out  at  him: 
"You  will  mire  your  horse  if  you  try  that." 

"I'll  risk  it."  And  he  rode  in  below  where 
the  ditches  were  dug.  The  pony's  feet  were 
not  muddy.  Hillhouse  found  we  could 
easily  ford  the  creek  below  the  ditches,  which 
we  did  without  accident. 

It  does  seem  a  shame  that  we  should  have 


:242  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

to  pay  toll  for  crossing  a  stream  like  that, 
after  fording  South  Platte,  North  Platte 
and  Green  River. 

The  Missourians  refused  to  pay  the  ex- 
orbitant price,  and  offered  them  fifty  cents 
per  wagon.  They  swore  they  would  not  take 
a  cent  less  than  one  dollar.  But  the  travelers 
were  too  many  for  them,  and  they  drove 
over  and  did  not  pay  a  cent.  The  toll  men 
were  fearfully  angry,  and  made  great 
threats,  but  the  men  dared  them  to  do  their 
worst  and  laughed  at  them. 

I  do  hope  we  will  get  ahead  of  these  people 
to-morrow.  They  are  not  the  kind  of  people 
I  like  to  travel  with. 

We  have  met  as  many  as  twenty  men  to- 
day going  back  to  the  States  from  the  Vir- 
ginia City  mines.  George  Mays  was  with 
them.  I  mentioned  about  his  leaving  the 
train  to  go  through  on  horseback,  expecting 
to  get  his  meals  at  stations  and  emigrant 
trains,  when  his  brother  with  his  bride  went 
to  Colorado.     Says  he  worked  just  one  day 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  243 

and  got  five  dollars  for  it,  and  took  the  back 
track  the  next  day. 

"Mining  is  the  only  work  a  man  can  get 
to  do,  and  it  would  kill  an  ordinary  man  in 
less  than  a  week." 

He  is  distressingly  homesick.  He  is  go- 
ing to  Denver  to  his  brother. 

Friday,  August  25. 

We  were  up  at  the  first  peep  of  dawn,  had 
breakfast,  and  were  hitching  up  to  start, 
when  the  folks  in  the  eight  wagons  began 
to  emerge  and  light  their  camp  fires,  so  we 
have  left  them  some,  distance  behind.  We 
have  been  meeting  men  all  day  returning 
from  the  mines.  They  give  a  doleful  ac- 
count of  the  hard  times  in  Montana.  They 
say :  "There  are  a  few  fortunate  ones  who 
are  making  money  like  dirt,  but  they  are  the 
exception,  about  one  in  a  hundred." 

One  man  was  very  anxious  to  buy  Dick. 
I  told  him :  "This  pony  is  not  for  sale,"  and 
rode  away  before  he  could   say  anything 


244  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

more.  The  boys  say  we  have  met  as  many 
as  two  hundred  men  to-day  returning  from 
the  mines.  I  beheve  we  are  all  somewhat 
discouraged  this  evening.  We  have  always 
heard  such  flattering  reports  from  Alder 
Gulch  and  Virginia  City. 

Friday,  August  26. 
We  have  overtaken  Mr.  Grier,  Mr.  Bower 
and  Mr.  Kennedy.  Some  of  Mr.  Bower's 
cattle  have  eaten  a  poisonous  herb — wild 
larkspur,  I  believe  it  is.  One  ox  has  died 
and  several  are  poisoned,  but  will  not  die. 
They  got  the  poison  weed  the  day  before  yes- 
terday, when  they  stopped  at  noon.  I  am 
glad  we  have  overtaken  them,  but  sorry  for 
their  misfortune.  Hillhouse  has  just  now 
come  in,  and  says  Joe,  one  of  our  big  white 
oxen,  is  poisoned.  He  came  for  remedies 
and  to  sharpen  his  knife  to  bleed  him.  No 
doubt  he  got  the  poison  the  same  place  Mr. 
Bower's  cattle  did  when  we  stopped  for 
noon.  Sim,  Hillhouse  and  Winthrop  have 
gone  to  his  relief. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  245 

MOTHER    AND    I    SAVE    JOE^S    LIFE. 

Later. — The  boys  came  back  very  much 
discouraged  after  working  an  hour,  and 
said:  "The  blood  will  not  flow,  and  he  is 
swelling  frightfully.  I  fear  he  will  die,  for 
when  the  blood  will  not  run  and  the  animal 
begins  to  swell,  they  cannot  be  saved.'* 

Mother  said:  "We  will  not  let  him  die 
without  further  effort,  at  least.  Come  on, 
Sarah,  let  us  try  what  we  can  do  for  him." 

We  melted  a  quart  of  lard  and  put  it  in 
a  long-necked  bottle  (that  we  had  brought 
for  the  purpose  of  drenching  horses  or  cat- 
tle), cut  up  a  lot  of  fat  bacon  into  strips, 
put  on  our  big  aprons,  and  taking  a  bucket 
of  cold  water,  we  were  ready.  Hillhouse 
said :  "Don't  give  him  water."  I  answered, 
"You  never  mind,  who  is  doing  this?" 

We  were  not  long  finding  poor  Joe.  He 
seemed  to  be  suffering  dreadfully.  His  nose 
was  as  hot  as  fire.  It  actually  burned  my 
hands  when  I  took  hold  of  it  to  drench  him 


246  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

with  the  lard.  He  seemed  to  know  we  were 
trying  to  help  him,  and  did  not  resist  at  all 
when  I  put  the  bottle  in  the  side  of  his  mouth 
to  pour  the  lard  down  his  throat.  He  looked 
at  us  with  his  great,  soft,  patient  eyes  in 
such  a  docile,  knowing  manner,  I  felt  sure  he 
would  not  bite  me,  so  I  put  my  hand  away 
down  his  throat  to  make  him  swallow  the 
strips  of  fat  bacon.  He  swallowed  them  as 
patiently  as  if  he  knew  what  they  were  for. 
We  then  bathed  his  nose  with  the  cold  water, 
without  letting  him  drink  any,  and  before 
we  came  away  he  seemed  relieved,  and  the 
swelling  had  stopped  and  he  breathed  much 
better.    I  believe  he  will  live. 

Saturday,  August  2y. 

Joe  did  not  die.  This  morning  when  Hill- 
house  went  to  see  about  him,  expecting  to 
find  him  dead,  he  was  grazing,  and  seemed 
as  well  as  ever,  except  his  nose,  which  looks 
as  if  it  had  been  scalded. 

We  came  to  Snake  River  ferry  this  morn- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  247 

ing,  six  miles  from  where  we  caniped  last 
night.  We  paid  eight  dollars  for  our  outfit 
crossing  on  the  ferry.  As  Nellie  Bower  and  I 
were  standing  on  the  bank  of  the  river  watch- 
ing the  wagons  being  ferried  over,  holding 
our  ponies  by  their  bridles,  a  gentleman  came 
near.  Lifting  his  hat  and  bowing  politely, 
he  said  to  me:  "I  will  give  one  hundred 
dollars  in  clean  gold  dust  for  that  pony." 
"This  pony  is  not  for  sale,  sir,  at  any  price." 

We  came  from  the  ferry  about  two  miles, 
and  stopped  for  lunch.  I  told  Hillhouse 
what  the  man  said. 

"If  I  were  3^ou,  I  would  certainly  sell  him, 
so  many  seem  to  want  him.  He  will  very 
likely  be  stolen." 

"Oh,  I  can't  sell  my  pony." 

After  lunch  the  men  folks  went  to  fish  in 
Snake  River.  They  had  been  gone  but  a  few 
minutes,  when  the  man  that  wanted  Dick 
rode  into  camp.  He  rode  straight  to  our 
wagons,  and  said: 


248  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

"I  Will  give  you  one  hundred  and  ten  dol- 
lars for  that  pony." 

I  had  begun  to  relent  somewhat.  I  felt 
that  it  would  not  do  to  be  sentimental  under 
existing  circumstances.  We  had  spent  al- 
most all  our  money  for  toll,  ferrying  and 
other  expenses  on  the  road.  It  might  prove 
to  be  a  serious  matter  to  be  in  a  strange  place 
without  money,  and  if  we  fail  to  get  em- 
ployment we  will  be  obliged  to  sell  some- 
thing, and  there  is  nothing  we  can  spare  so 
well  as  Dick.  I  knew  the  man  had  offered 
all  and  more  than  I  could  expect  to  get  for 
him. 

But  as  Hillhouse  was  gone  fishing  and  I 
could  not  think  of  selling  my  pony  myself,  I 
said  to  the  man : 

"My  brother  is  not  here,  and  I  cannot  let 
him  go." 

"Tell  your  brother  to  bring  him  to  the 
ferry,  and  I  will  send  you  the  pay  for  him." 

"I  think  you  need  not  expect  him,  for  I 
am  sure  he  will  not  come." 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  249 

He  went  away  without  Dick,  and  Hill- 
house  did  not  take  him  back,  so  I  have  my 
pony  yet.  We  came  five  miles  and  camped, 
as  too  long  a  drive  is  not  good  for  the  pois- 
oned cattle.  I  wish  there  was  a  longer  dis- 
tance between  us  and  the  man  that  wants  my 
pony. 

Mr.  Grier  sold  his  riding  horse  at  the 
ferry.    He  says: 

"There  is  a  party  of  half  a  dozen  gentle- 
men going  to  the  States  horseback.  They 
are  all  supplied,  except  the  man  that  wants 
your  pony.  He  has  waited,  trying  to  find  a 
horse  with  an  easy  gait,  and  Dick  is  the  only 
one  that  has  suited  him.  Oh,  he  will  be  back 
again,  Miss  Raymond,  and  make  another 
offer,  and  if  you  do  not  let  him  have  him, 
I  don't  know  what  he  will  do,  for  he  seems 
determined  to  get  him." 

If  he  does  come  I  will  not  dare  to  refuse 
him,  but  I  do  hope  we  are  out  of  reach  of 
temptation.  Dick  is  as  fat  as  when  we 
started.     I  comb  and  brush  him  every  day, 


250  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

and  he  shows  his  keeping.  He  always  looks 
nice  and  sleek.  He  is  a  bright  bay,  with 
heavy  black  mane  and  tail. 

DICK  IS  SOLD.      OH,  DEAR. 

Sunday,  August  28. 

It  was  scarcely  daylight  when  that  hateful 
man  was  here  again  after  Dick.  I  had  just 
finished  dressing  when  Hillhouse  came  to 
the  wagon  and  said : 

"Shall  I  let  Dick  go?" 

"Do  as  you  think  best."  And  I  threw  my- 
self on  the  bed  for  a  good  cry.  I  had  not 
stopped  crying  when  he  came  back,  and 
throwing  a  buckskin  purse  into  my  lap,  said : 

"There  is  your  pony."  There  was  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  in  gold  dust 
in  it.  I  sobbed  out  loud.  Hillhouse  looked 
at  me  with  contempt  in  his  expression,  but 
said  nothing.    I  could  not  help  crying. 

I  know  he  would  never  sell  anything  that 
he  loved,  and  I  love  that  pony.  I  let  the 
purse  roll  out  of  my  lap  down  into  the  bot- 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  251 

torn  of  the  wagon,  and  have  not  touched  it 
yet.  Of  course,  I  knew  the  wagon-bed  was 
tight,  and  there  is  no  danger  of  its  being  lost. 
We  came  to  Silver  Lake  to-day.  We  are 
having  a  fine  shower  of  rain,  which  we  were 
needing  very  much.  It  was  some  time  com- 
ing, so  we  had  dinner  over  and  were  ready 
for  it  when  it  reached  us. 

Monday,  August  29. 

We  have  traveled  to-day  over  Snake 
River  desert,  nothing  but  sand  and  sage- 
brush. We  watered  at  noon  at  a  toll  well, 
called  Hole-in-the-sand,  and  paid  ten  cents 
a  head  for  watering  stock.  I  wonder  what 
we  will  have  to  pay  toll  for  next  ? 

We  are  camping  on  Camel's  Creek.  There 
is  a  family  camping  near  us  from  Bannack, 
going  to  the  States.  The  lady  is  a  sister  of 
Mr.  Esler,  one  of  the  quartz  kings  of  Mon- 
tana, so  she  says;  I  presume  everybody 
knows  about  him,  but  I  must  confess  I  never 
heard  of  him  until  now. 


252  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

His  sister  is  taking  his  motherless  babe 
back  to  its  grandmother.  Mr.  Esler's  wife 
died  more  than  a  month  ago.  The  babe  is 
about  four  months  old,  and  as  sweet  as  can 
be.  I  could  not  keep  my  hands  off  it,  and 
that  is  how  I  came  to  get  acquainted  with  its 
auntie.  She  is  a  great  talker,  seems  to  think 
I  am  going  to  Montana  husband-hunting, 
and  volunteered  a  deal  of  advice  on  the  sub- 
ject, especially  I  must  not  tell  that  I  am 
from  Missouri,  as  Missourians  are  below  par 
in  Montana.  She  is  from  New  York.  Oh, 
dear,  it  makes  one  tired  to  see  a  full-grown 
woman  so  frivolous. 

Tuesday,  August  30. 

We  watered  the  stock  at  noon  at  Hole-in- 
the-rock.  Didn't  turn  them  out  to  graze,  as 
there  was  nothing  for  them  to  graze  on. 

Mr.  Bower  has  lost  another  ox,  and  was 
obliged  to  buy  a  yoke  of  oxen  to  get  his 
wagons  over  the  ranges.  There  are  two 
mountains  to  cross  before  he  reaches  his 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  253 

home  in  the  Madison  Valley,  fifteen  or 
twenty  miles  the  other  side  of  Virginia  City. 
Of  course,  he  had  to  pay  a  most  exorbitant 
price.  Joe,  our  ox  that  was  poisoned,  seems 
as  well  as  ever,  except  his  nose  has  peeled  off 
as  if  scalded  into  a  blister. 

We  are  camping  at  the  foot  of  the  last 
range  we  will  cross  before  we  reach  our  des- 
tination. 

Mrs.  Kennedy  and  I  have  become  quite 
well  acquainted  the  last  few  days.  She  was 
a  bride  of  only  a  few  days  when  they  started 
to  the  West.  Her  husband  drives  one  of  Mr. 
Bower's  teams.  They  are  going  among 
strangers,  to  make  them  a  home  and  fortune. 
She  is  a  very  inteUigent  and  well-educated 
young  woman.  I  do  not  know  her  husband 
very  much. 

mother's  birthday. 

Wednesday,  August  31. 
Mother's    birthday.     She    is    fifty-three 
years  old.     We  have  not  been  able  to  cele- 


254  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

brate  it  especially,  yet  she  is  not  likely  to 
forget  it,  though  spent  in  climbing  a  Rocky 
Mountain  range.  We  have  been  now  four 
months  on  this  journey.  Have  lived  out  of 
doors,  in  all  sorts  of  weather.  It  has  been 
very  beneficial  to  mother.  She  was  looking 
frail  and  delicate  when  we  started,  but  seems 
to  be  in  perfect  health  now,  and  looks  at  least 
ten  years  younger. 

I  have  not  heard  her  utter  one  word  of 
complaint,  either  of  physical  suffering  or 
outward  discomfort,  such  as  the  heat  or  cold, 
mud,  dust,  rain,  nor  any  of  the  things  that 
make  camping  out  disagreeable,  and  so 
many  people  grumble  about.  "What  can't 
be  cured,  must  be  endured,"  is  her  motto, 
and  the  one  care  has  been  that  we  all  keep  in 
good  health,  and  she  would  ask  nothing 
more. 

We  are  camping  in  Pleasant  Valley,  a  de- 
pression right  on  top  of  the  mountain,  just 
large  enough  for  a  good-sized  ranch.  It  is  a 
beautiful  place,  the  scenery  is  magnificently 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  255 

grand.  There  is  a  fine  grove  of  beautiful 
trees  at  the  lower  end  of  the  vale.  The  sides 
and  upper  end  are  hedged  in  by  straight  up 
and  down  hills  or  mountain-sides,  about  fif- 
teen feet  high.  The  grass  is  a  luxuriant 
green  and  very  plentiful. 

There  is  a  station  here,  occupied  by  a  fam- 
ily that  used  to  live  in  Virginia  City.  They 
have  two  very  bright  little  girls,  who  have 
spent  the  early  evening  hours  with  us.  They 
are  perfect  little  chatterboxes  to  talk.  They 
have  a  married  sister  living  in  Virginia  City, 
the  wife  of  a  Mr.  Wheeler,  who  is  a  candi- 
date for  some  office.  The  little  girls  had 
forgotten  whether  for  sherifif  or  Member  of 
Congress. 

Thursday,  September  i. 
This  is  brother  Mac's  birthday.  He  is 
twenty-seven  years  old.  I  wonder  if  he  has 
thought  of  it,  and  remembered  us.  I  pre- 
sume he  has.  It  has  been  some  weeks  since 
we  have  had  an  opportunity  to  post  a  letter 


2S6  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

to  him.  There  have  been  depredations  by  the 
Indians,  which  have  no  doubt  been  largely 
reported  in  the  newspapers,  and  he  cannot 
know  that  we  have  escaped.  His  anxiety 
and  suspense  must  be  hard  to  bear.  I  know 
I  should  suffer  agonies'  were  our  circum- 
stances reversed. 

As  we  were  descending  the  mountain  we 
met  a  freight  train  loaded  with  people  re- 
turning to  the  States.  After  we  had  passed 
them  about  half  a  mile,  Hillhouse  was  walk- 
ing in  front  of  the  wagons,  and  found  a  min- 
er's shovel.  It  is  bright  and  shining,  but  not 
new.  It  is  worn  off  some.  The  men  tell 
Hillhouse  it  is  a  good  omen,  that  he  will 
make  money  by  the  shovelful.  He  laughed, 
and  said :  'T  reckon  I'd  better  keep  it,  then, 
to  shovel  it  up  with." 

Friday,  September  2. 
When  I  awoke  in  the  night  I  heard  the 
rain  pattering  on  the  wagon-cover.     This 
morning  the  mountains  were  all  covered 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  257 

with  snow,  and  presented  a  magnificent  pic- 
ture. Those  nearest  our  camp  are  covered 
with  pine  trees  of  an  intensely  dark  green. 
The  snow  on  the  boughs  and  beneath  the 
trees  gHttered  in  the  sunshine.  The  scene 
was  constantly  changing,  as  the  warm  sun 
melted  the  snow  from  the  boughs,  and  before 
night  it  was  all  gone  except  on  the  highest 
peaks,  where  it  stays  all  summer. 

The  roads  have  been  sloppy  and  muddy  to- 
day, though  the  water  has  all  run  off  or  evap- 
orated, so  that  it  is  comparatively  dry  where 
we  are  camping,  notwithstanding  there  was 
so  much  snow  and  water  on  the  ground  this 
morning.  It  is  too  cold  for  comfort  .this 
evening.  We  are  hovering  around  the  stove 
with  our  shawls  on. 

SWEET   WATER   CANON. 

Saturday,  September  3. 
We  came  through  a  deep,  dark  canon  this 
morning,  and  passed  the  grave  of  a  man  that 
was  robbed  and  murdered  last  week.    It  is 


258  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

the  deepest  and  darkest  canon  we  have  trav- 
eled through.  Ten  men  have  been  robbed 
and  murdered  in  it  in  the  last  two  years. 
We  were  in  no  danger  of  being  molested. 
Only  men  who  have  their  fortunes  in  gold 
about  their  person  are  intercepted,  robbed 
and  killed.  How  awful  it  seems.  Why  will 
men  be  so  wicked  ? 

In  several  places  in  the  canon  the  road  has 
been  widened  with  pick  and  shovel,  perhaps 
two  or  three  days'  work  done,  and  we  had 
to  pay  ten  dollars  toll  for  our  two  wagons 
passing  over  it.  We  stopped  at  noon  on 
Black  Tail  Deer  Creek.  Are  camping  on 
the-  Sweet  Water,  about  twenty-five  miles 
from  Virginia  City.  This  is  a  beautiful 
place.  There  are  fine  large  trees  along  the 
creek,  high  mountains  around  a  lovely  dale. 
It  is  just  large  enough  for  a  fine  farm.  There 
is  a  deserted  cabin  here,  where  some  one 
commenced  improving  a  farm,  became 
home-sick  and  discouraged,  and  left  it  for 
some  one  else. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  aS9 

Sunday,  September  4. 

We  are  camping  within  seven  miles  of 
Virginia  City,  near  a  freight  train  of  about 
fifty  wagons,  with  from  seventy-five  to  one 
hundred  people  all  together,  men,  women 
and  children,  returning  to  the  States. 

To  hear  these  people  talk  of  the  disad- 
vantages and  disagreeable  things  with  re- 
gard to  life  in  Montana,  would  have  a  ten- 
dency to  discourage  one,  if  it  were  not  so 
palpable  that  they  are  homesick,  and  every- 
one knows  that  when  that  disease  is  fairly 
developed,  everything  is  colored  with  a 
deep  dark  blue,  and  even  pleasant  things 
seem  extremely  disagreeable  to  the  afflicted 
person.  The  ladies  seem  to  have  the  disease 
in  its  worst  form,  and  of  course  they  make 
the  gentlemen  do  as  they  wish,  which  is  to 
take  them  home  to  mother  and  other  dear 
ones. 

We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  day,  about  as 
pleasant  as  the  day  we  started  on  this  jour- 
ney, the  first  day  of  May.     It  is  cheering 


26o  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD, 

that  the  first  and  last  days  of  our  journeying 
should  be  so  lovely.  After  four  months  and 
four  days  of  living  outdoors  we  are  all  in 
the  most  robust  health.  Yet  we  shall  be  glad 
to  have  a  roof  over  our  heads  once  more, 
even  if  it  is  a  dirt  roof. 

Monday,  September  5. 
Noon. — Here  we  are  camping  in  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  city,  in  Alder  Gulch,  where  the 
miners  are  at  work.  How  I  wish  my  de- 
scriptive powers  were  adequate  to  making 
those  who  have  never  seen  gulch-mining  see 
as  I  see,  and  realize  the  impression  made 
upon  me  as  I  first  looked  into  the  gulch  at 
the  miners  at  work.  There  is  a  temporary 
bridge  (very  shaky)  across  the  gulch  that 
wagons  may  pass  over.  Standing  on  this 
bridge,  in  the  middle  of  the  gulch,  looking 
up  and  down,  and  even  beneath  my  feet,  the 
scene  is  a  lively  one.  So  many  men,  it  seems 
they  would  be  in  each  other's  way.  They  re- 
mind one  of  bees  around  a  hive.    And  such 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  261 

active  work..  It  seemed  that  not  one  of  that 
great  multitude  stopped  for  one  instant  shov- 
eling and  wheeling  dirt,  passing  and  re- 
passing each  other  without  a  hitch.  It  made 
me  tired  to  look  at  them.  The  ground  is  lit- 
erally turned  inside  out;  great  deep  holes 
and  high  heaps  of  dirt.  The  mines  are  said 
to  be  very  rich. 

2  p.  M. — We  dined  at  noon  to-day.  Had 
beefsteak  at  fifty  cents  per  pound  and  pota- 
toes at  twenty-five  cents.  I  do  not  know 
if  the  price  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  but  it 
certainly  tasted  better  than  any  I  ever  ate 
before. 

I  interviewed  a  woman — or  rather  she  in- 
terviewed me — that  lives  near  where  we  are 
camping.  She  said  her  name  is  Neihart. 
Her  husband  is  a  miner  and  earns  seven  dol- 
lars per  day.  •  Judging  from  the  manner  in 
which  they  seem  to  live,  they  ought  to  save 
at  least  five  of  it.  I  presume  I  did  not  make 
a  very  favorable  impression,  for  after  I  came 
TDack  to  camp  she  called  across  the  street  to 


263  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

her  neighbor — so  we  could  hear  what  she 
said: 

"Some  more  aristocrats.  They  didn't 
come  here  to  work.  Going  to  teach  school 
and  play  lady,"  with  great  contempt  in  her 
voice. 

I  laughed  at  the  first  impression  made, 
and  tried  to  realize  that  teaching  is  not  work. 

THE  END  0&  OUR  JOURNEY. 

Mrs.  Curry,  Sim,  Hillhouse  and  I  are  go- 
ing to  town  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Curry  is  ready. 
We  held  a  council  whether  we  should  get  out 
our  street  suits  and  last  summer's  hats,  or  go 
in  our  emigrant  outfits,  sunbonnets  and 
short  dresses,  thick  shoes  and  all.  Decided 
in  favor  of  the  latter.  No  doubt  the  people 
of  Virginia  are  used  to  seeing  emigrants  in 
emigrant  outfits,  and  we  will  not  astonish 
them. 

Evening. — We  were  not  very  favorably 
impressed  with  Virginia  City.  It  is  the 
shabbiest  town  I  ever  saw,  not  a  really  good 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  263 

house  in  it.  Hillhouse  and  I,  after  hunting 
up  and  down  the  two  most  respectable  look- 
ing streets,  found  a  log  cabin  with  two 
rooms  that  we  rented  for  eight  dollars  per 
month.  Mrs.  Curry  did  not  find  a  house  at 
all.  We  thought  as  so  many  were  leaving 
there  would  be  an  abundance  of  vacant 
houses,  but  there  were  enough  living  in  tents 
to  fill  all  the  houses  that  were  vacated. 

Mr.  Curry's  folks  and  Mr.  Kennedy's  will 
go  to  Helena.  Mr.  Bower  has  a  ranch  on 
the  Madison  Valley.  Mr.  Grier  will  stay 
here  for  a  time,  anyway.  liMM 

The  cabin  is  on  the  corner  of  Wallace  and 
Hamilton  Streets,  next  door  to  the  city 
butcher.  The  cabin  has  a  dirt  roof.  There 
is  a  floor  in  it,  and  that  is  better  than  some 
have.  It  is  neat  and  clean,  which  is  a  com- 
fort.   Men  have  not  bached  in  it. 

We  found  quite  a  budget  of  letters  at  the 
post-office,  the  most  important  of  which  are 
from  brother  Mac  and  Frank  Kerfoot. 
Mac's  letter : 


264  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

Cincinnati,  August  lo,  1865. 
Dear  Mother,  Sister  and  Brothers: 

It  is  with  fear  and  trembling  that  I  pen 
this  letter.  I  have  not  heard  from  you  for 
more  than  a  month,  telling  me  you  had  de- 
cided to  go  to  Montana.  The  papers  are 
full  of  accounts  of  Indian  depredations.  I 
have  realized  to  the  fullest  extent  that  ''Hope 
deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick."  In  your 
last  letter  you  had  decided  to  go  to  Vir- 
ginia City,  so  I  will  direct  this  letter  to  be 
held  until  called  for.  I  am  glad  you  are  not 
going  any  farther  West.  I  cannot  conceive 
why  you  wanted  to  go  to  that  far  off  wild 
Western  country.  I  do  wish  you  had  stopped 
at  Omaha,  or  St.  Jo,  or  even  Denver.  It 
would  have  been  better  than  Montana. 
With  sincerest  love  to  all, 

Your  son  and  brother,  Mac. 

But  oh,  the  sad,  sad  news  comes  in 
Frank's  letter.  Neelie  is  dead.  Oh,  the 
anguish  of  soul,  the  desolateness  of  heart. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  265 

that    one    sentence    gives    expression    to. 
Frank's  letter : 


Green  River,  Wyoming  Ter.,  Aug.  18. 

Dear  Miss  Sallie — I  write  to  tell  you  of 
our  very  great  sorrow.  Precious  Neelie  is 
gone.  We  are  all  sorely  bereaved,  but  how 
Uncle  Ezra's  family  can  ever  get  along  with- 
out her,  I  cannot  see.  Any  member  of  the 
family,  except  uncle,  could  be  spared  better 
than  Neelie.  She  got  very  much  better,  and 
the  doctor  said  if  uncle  would  stay  there  an- 
other week,  he  was  sure  Neelie  would  be  well 
enough  to  travel  without  danger  of  a  relapse, 
but  if  she  had  another  relapse  she  could  not 
be  saved. 

The  Hardinbrooke  train  left  Monday 
morning.  Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  was  much 
better.  The  Gatewoods  and  Ryans  stayed 
with  us.  Neelie  was  much  better.  She  sat 
up  in  bed  some.  That  night  Uncle  Ezra  did 
not  sleep  at  all,  he  was  so  afraid  of  Indians. 
The  next  morning,  as  Neelie  had  a  good 


266i  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

night's  rest,  and  was  feeling  stronger,  noth- 
ing else  would  do  but  we  must  move  on  to 
Green  River,  where  the  soldiers  are.  We 
started  about  nine  o'clock,  and  drove  twen- 
ty-five miles  without  stopping.  It  was  very 
hot  and  dusty.  Uncle  drove  the  family 
wagon  and  watched  Neelie  carefully.  After 
a  time  she  seemed  to  be  sleeping  quietly,  so 
he  thought  she  was  all  right.  But  it  was  the 
sleep  from  which  there  is  no  waking  in  thi§ 
life. 

Dr.  Howard  and  Dr.  Fletcher  were  both 
at  Green  River,  and  they  both  worked  all 
night  trying  to  arouse  her,  but  without  suc- 
cess. At  early  dawn  Neelie' s  sweet  spirit 
took  its  flight,  and  we  are  left  desolate. 

Miss  Sallie,  do  you  remember  Carpenter? 
the  young  man  that  made  Uncle  Ezra  so  mad 
by  pretending  to  go  into  hysterics  when  the 
Ryan  girls  were  leaving  the  train?  When 
he  heard  that  Neelie  was  gone,  he  went  out 
on  the  mountain  and  found  a  large,  smooth, 
flat  stone,  white  as  marble,  but  not  so  hard. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  267 

and  engraved  Neelie's  name,  age,  and  date 
of  her  death  on  it,  to  mark  her  resting  place. 
He  worked  all  day  upon  it,  and  at  the  funeral 
he  placed  it  at  the  head  of  her  grave,  and  if 
you  ever  go  over  this  road  it  will  not  be  hard 
to  find  Neelie's  grave.  We  gathered  wild 
flowers  and  literally  covered  her  grave  with 
them. 

Darling  Neelie,  our  loss  is  her  gain,  for 
we  all  know  that  she  was  an  earnest,  de- 
voted Christian.  We  will  start  on  our  now 
sorrowful  journey  to-morrow.  I  wish  you 
were  here  to  go  with  us,  but  hope  you  will  be 
successful  where  you  are,  and  happy  too. 

Mrs.  Hardinbrooke  was  much  worse  after 
they  came  here.  That  hot,  dusty  drive  was 
hard  on  well  people;  for  sick  people  it  was 
terrible.  When  Neelie  died  she  was  very 
low,  but  she  has  rallied,  and  the  rest  of  the 
train  will  move  on  to-morrow.  But  Mr. 
Hardinbrooke  will  stay  here  with  his  wife 
until  she  is  entirely  restored,  and  they  will 
go  to  Virginia  City  on  the  coach.    All  send 


268  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

love  to  you  all.    Aunt  Mildred  asked  me  to 
write  you. 

Very  sincerely  your  friend, 

Frank. 

I  believe  I  am  homesick  this  evening.  It 
is  so  dreary  to  go  into  a  strange  place  and 
meet  so  many  people,  and  not  one  familiar 
face.  But  I  must  not  complain,  for  we  are 
all  here,  not  even  Caesar  missing.  My  heart 
aches  so  for  the  Kerfoots.  I  do  not  know 
how  they  can  bear  this  terrible  bereavement 
under  such  trying  circumstances. 

Tuesday,  September  6. 

Mr.  Curry's  folks  have  started  to  Helena. 
Mr.  Bower's  to  the  Madison  Valley,  and  Mr. 
Kennedy  with  them,  to  drive  his  team,  leav- 
ing Mrs.  Kennedy  with  us  until  to-morrow, 
when  they  will  take  the  coach  for  Helena. 

We  moved  into  our  cabin  this  morning. 
It  does  not  seem  as  much  like  home  as  the 
wagons  did,  and  I  believe  we  are  all  home- 
sick if  we  would  acknowledge  it. 


DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD.  269 

The  boys  found  a  checkerboard  nailed  on 
the  window  where  a  pane  of  glass  was 
broken  out.  We  pasted  paper  over  the  place. 
They  made  checkermen  out  of  pasteboard, 
and  Sim  and  Winthrop  are  having  a  game. 
Hillhouse  is  reading  the  Montana  Post. 
Mother  is  making  bread,  and  initiating  Mrs. 
Kennedy  into  the  mysteries  of  yeast  and 
bread-making. 

As  Hillhouse  was  on  his  way  to  the 
butcher  shop,  he  passed  an  auction  sale  of 
household  goods.  The  auctioneer  was  cry- 
ing a  beautiful  porcelain  lamp.  He  stopped 
to  make  the  first  bid.  "One  dollar"  he  called. 
There  were  no  other  bids  and  he  got  the 
lamp — his  first  purchase  in  Virginia  City. 
(He  has  it  yet.) 

When  he  brought  it  home,  with  the  meat 
he  went  to  get,  mother  said :  "What  is  the 
use  of  the  lamp  without  the  chimney?" 

So  he  went  to  purchase  a  chimney  after 
dinner  and  coal  oil  to  burn  in  the  lamp.  He 
had  to  pay  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  for  a 


270.  DAYS  ON  THE  ROAD. 

chimney,  and  five  dollars  for  a  gallon  of  coal 
oil,  so  our  light  is  rather  expensive  after  all. 
And  thus  ends  our  first  day  in  Virginia  City, 
and  brings  "Crossing  the  Plains  and  Moun- 
tains in  1865"  to  an  end. 

By  S.  R.  H. 


^nv: 


•T^p 


:T 


